To the Nth Degree
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: Following John Shepard on his path from colony farmboy to one of the elite combatants in the galaxy. Some cameos. -COMPLETE-
1. Memorium

_This is a prelude for the training John Shepard underwent for his N7 rating. The goal is to cover from Recruitment to the Skyllian Blitz, albeit I am not certain how exactly long the entire section will take a few chapters maybe._

* * *

**Memorium**

**Mindoir: 2172**

It had been two years since the batarian slave raid. The Alliance had sent aid as promised, including the workers for the harvest, planted by those whom were no longer there. Many of the custom combiners had decided to settle on Mindoir after observing the rich yields the planet could produce.

It was only natural, Shepard mused. What manner of being who devoted his life to agriculture could pass up the opportunity for cheap land, ready to plant? The most difficult aspect of terraforming had already been accomplished, namely adjusting crops and animals to a new ecosystem, and getting large swaths of land tamed for planting.

He shifted in his seat a little; granted the government on Mindoir may have worked out the best deal possible. Insurance money had been handed out to the survivors, and that which hadn't been recompensed was mostly recovered. A lot, really, since the slavers had been concentrating on grabbing people, not stuff. The slavers had made a quick sweep for valuables, of course, but the speed of the raid required that the searchers would be rushed. Inevitably, many things had been missed.

Shepard looked down at the closest example. An authentic violin rested on his knees, courtesy of the Larsons. He wasn't sure why they'd done it, but their will had stipulated the violin would go to the Shepard family. As the only surviving member of said family, that meant he'd gotten it.

Wind blew gently over his home, attracting his attention. It was a familiar wind, fairly constant, almost always going from west to east. It changed course with the seasons, sometimes slower, sometimes strengthening with the promise of storms, as it did now.

Farther west, a dark squall line was showing itself over the horizon. Out in the fields, farmers were running their auto-drills as fast as possible, preparing as much land for as much seed as possible. Seasons didn't wait until the farmer was ready; the farmer had to prepare for the season. Farther north in the airfield, shuttles were being towed into the hangers and the ultralight cropsprayers were being hastily broken down into easily stored components.

With a grunt, Shepard stood up. He was standing on the roof of what had been his family's home, now his home, for what may be the last time. Turning to face the oncoming wind, he raised the violin to his shoulder, but held the bow away for a bit. The wind gusted and swirled around him, making the violin strings hum. The tune changed with the wind, just as wild and restless. While Shepard wasn't great at the instrument, he'd had lessons, and knew how to appreciate good music and fine instruments. This violin was made of original Earth wood, carved centuries before Mass Relays were known to exist, polished over the years by who knows how many musicians.

Shepard let the wind play for a little longer before he touched the strings lightly with the bow. A lilting melody, lost in the wind, blew over the town. The Ashokan Farewell was an old tune, dedicated to the fallen, written after a different conflict on 19th century Earth. Shepard felt it was apropos, considering what had transpired. It was also his own farewell. His birthday had occured the previous week, on April 11th. He had turned 18, old enough to enlist in the Alliance Military, which had already accepted his application.

Music flew across the town, but few heard it. Thunder rumbled in the distance, unconsciously echoing cannon from another era. Lightning lit up the far side of town, and the wind picked up sharply.

Shepard let the last few notes free, and waited just another minute. Then he went inside, carefully polished the violin, and put it back in its case.

The home was strangely empty. Most of the furniture was still there, but the knickknacks that had individualized the place were safely stored away. Some were buried in obscure locations, others were stashed in a safety deposit vault down at the First National Bank of Mindoir. If the slaver attack had taught Shepard anything, it was to never keep all the eggs in one basket. Should something happen to one cache, the others would be safe. Relatively, anyway.

The home itself was already slated to be rented out. A couple fresh from the Alliance had been transferred to Mindoir, and needed a place to stay. Shepard had offered lenient terms, since he wouldn't need the credits for a while and wanted to make sure the place was inhabited. Crime had gone up since the attack, what with new blood seeing a lot of abandoned buildings. It had gone down after the excess prefabs had been leveled for construction material, but there was still more than what there had been before the attack.

With that in mind, he rolled himself in his bag, and waited for sleep to come. He didn't need to listen to any of the recordings his parents had made for him, he'd memorized them already. Still, he liked to hear the sound of their voices. Unconsciously he activated one of the recordings on his omni-tool.

His mothers voice made him jerk: "June 30th, 2160. John is doing well at school, but I'm concerned that he's too quiet. Jim says not to worry, that it's a sign of an active mind. He's right, of course, but I'm worried that John isn't making friends. I talked about it with him today. He told me that if he wanted friends, that he wanted friends that would be good friends, not just someone who played baseball for a weekend and forgot about him after that. John, if you see this, know that you will always have a few people looking out for you. Don't be afraid to trust."

His fathers voice automatically played next. "John, wait…is this on? John? Oh…the light is blinking red…guess it is on…Hey John! Glad you could make it! Today is December 24th, and the year is 2166. I was just watching you slide down the hill behind our house. Makes me wish I were young again. Nadia forbade me from taking your sled on a test run last winter, so I made a bigger one out of some old plastic barrier a few weeks ago. Tomorrow after church we'll head to those bigger hills outside of town and work in some serious powder. Next year, I have some plans for a snowmobile, kinda like a little Mako, but with treads. It'll be fun!"

Nadias voice came back on: "John, this is your mother. I've been reading some news articles on the extranet, and I promise you son if you _ever_ get involved with that Terra Firma party, I am going to hunt you down and…"

Jim's voice interrupted: "Nadia, do you really think John would fall for anything that stupid?"

Nadia's voice returned: "I'm just warning him…"she sighed. "All right John, I trust you to make the right decisions. Eventually. After you-"

A brief squeal of static ended the recording. John Shepard switched off his omnitool, smiling slightly. He'd miss these nights in Basic training. With that, he went to sleep, listening to the wind. The next few weeks would be tiring.


	2. Basic Training: part I

_My apologies formy lack of knowledge on standard military procedures. This chapter is dedicated to the veterans and currently serving members of the US military. Thank!_

_Continuing the early military career of John Shepard, following the events of Mindoir._

Chapter 2

Basic: Part I

The Grizzly heaved back on its tires before jerking forwards again. The recruits inside jostled each other without malice, although some of the passengers obviously had less experience in rough terrain travel than others.

Outside the only sign of civilization was a series of concrete buildings, a large fence and two towers, all surrounded by endless plains. A few clumps of trees, no more than a few acres, were scattered haphazardly. One of the buildings was apparently a hanger, but it didn't have the usual radials on multiple positions. Other buildings were more easily identified as a mess hall (rectangular and long), bunkhouses (same shape but smaller) and miscellaneous sheds.

Shepard watched his compatriots. Most of them, he knew, would be his comrades-in-arms for the next few months, or at least neighbors. Broadly speaking. They would also be his enemies, his competition for grades and rank. Shepard loved competition.

The old vehicle groaned to a halt, shuddering the last few feet. The undercarriage door hissed open, allowing the passengers to exit. Most of the recruits lined up roughly, some wandered around a little, at least until a large man with a deep voice suddenly bellowed into their ears.

"GREAT , ANOTHER SHIPMENT OF LOUSY RECRUITS. EVERY MONTH IT GETS WORSE. WHERE DID THEY GET THIS CREW, A QUARIAN TRAMP FREIGHTER?"

All eyes instantly swung forwards as the voices' owner stalked out from the shadow of a guardbox. He was easily six feet tall, a blue-eyed blond, and would have made advertisements for gymnasiums had he not also possessed an extensive network of scars on the right side of his face. He clearly knew about his appearance, and wasn't afraid to use it to loom over the shorter recruits. When he reached Shepard he couldn't lean over, so he simply pushed very close to Shepards face. "IS THAT A SMILE I SEE RECRUIT? DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!"

Shepard dropped to his hands, kept his feet spread and began pumping. He had grown a great deal in two years, even if he hadn't filled out yet. He'd also gone to a military veteran for training advice, back when he'd been thinking about joining the Alliance.

"I AM SERGEANT PETROS. YOU ARE MY CHARGES, AND NO I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT EITHER." The sergeant stepped back from observing the last of the recruits and witnessed Shepard finishing the last of the pushups.

"I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO GET UP RECRUIT! I TOLD YOU TO GIVE ME TWENTY PUSHUPS!" he instantly bellowed.

Shepard assumed the parade rest, arms behind his back, hands linked. "I have finished your-"

Petros interrupted in fill volume. The man seemed to have only one setting for communication. "I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK RECRUIT! DROP AND GIVE ME THIRTY PUSHUPS!"

Shepard's face burned; he'd known about the intimidation tactics used, especially in the early stages of Basic. He'd still blown it, like a rookie with no actual knowledge. Which, in retrospect, he was. He made the only response possible.

"SIR YES SIR!" And he went down again. As he pounded out his tenth pushup, something heavy almost drove his face into the grass. He strained up, and the weight became heavier, but Shepard kept it up until he'd done all thirty repetitions.

Sergeant Petros smirked at him. His left boot looked cleaner than his right boot. "So you've been working out, boy. Do you feel smart now?"

Shepard spoke without thinking. "Sir, no sir! I am an Alliance Marine Recruit, Sir!"

Muffled snickers broke out before the sergeant could respond.

The rest of the day went fairly similarly. The hard work and exercise Shepard had done for years served him in good stead, but he was still sore and tired by lights out. Instantly, he fell asleep, or tried to do so.

He was interrupted by his assigned "battle buddy," Karl Valdez.

"Psst, Shepard." Karl hissed.

Shepard moaned quietly.

"This is going to be fun, right?" humor was heavily prevalent in Karls' tone. That was not much of a surprise. Karl was an easily amused individual apparently chosen to balance the "bland, insipid oatmeal" of Shepards own nature. Which was a compliment, in a backhand manner. Shepard believed he had a scintillating personality, just not on the job. Maybe he'd have to work on that.

"Come on Johnnie, I can crack jokes, you can make with the straight man face, it'll be fantastic!"

Shepard rolled onto his side, deliberately away from Karl.

"Oh come on, don't be like that. What happened to make you so flavorless in personality?"

Shepard let out a pent-up sigh. "I am overtired, run off my feet, and kept from sleeping by some clown that thinks he's funny."

Karl snorted. "At least he admits to my inimitable personality. Maybe-"

Someone hissed from a corner "Fire brigade coming. Sarge behind 'em."

Karl dropped like he'd been shot, leaving Shepard to sleep. He needed it.

Morning began precisely at 0430. It was a good morning as well, filled with the cheerful noise of a clanging garbage can lid and the dulcet tones of their drill sergeant.

"WAKE UP CUPCAKES! TIME FOR WIPING OFF THOSE PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR FACIAL HAIR AND GET MOVING!"

Shepards' feet hit the floor before his head was off the pillow. It was still dark outside, but the surrounding vegetation was alive with the noises of groaning recruits, not the usual wildlife he'd grown used too. Within minutes, he'd shaved, dressed and started making his bed. Around him, some of the men and women were still groggily sitting up. That bothered him a little; how much time did they think they had?

"Two minutes." Warned the current fire brigade member. That would be Nicodemus, against all odds. He was a short, wiry young man with black hair. Difficult to place, phenotypically. Then Shepard started wondering when he'd begun identifying people based on the geography of their ancestors origin.

Fortunately, that moment of distracting introspection was interrupted by the call to mess. Which, in Shepards opinion, it certainly was.

Recruits swarmed the entrance line that slowly wound its way to the serving counter. The meal of choice was bland, but filling. Some sort of egg substitute overwhelmed a platter with bread and a small pile of meat. Sausage, maybe.

One of the recruits had apparently been arguing with the chef. Shepard got close enough in time to hear the tail end.

"Missy, I can assure you the Alliance military respects all the religions and viewpoints. Being a vegetarian is perfectly acceptable, so long as you can afford to bring your own meals."

The lady in question looked fairly upset. "It was not evident anywhere in the forms that I would be responsible for bringing meals!"

The chef shrugged. "I don't think you would have the option on the battlefield. You'd eat what you could get, so long as it kept you from starving. Now since you are in training, not even a full soldier, you will eat what we provide, or provide your own food. After graduation, you can argue with the brass about dining privileges."

Shepard waited until the woman had angrily stomped away with a full tray. He followed her to a bench. "Mind if I sit here?"

She shoveled forkfuls of egg substitute into her mouth. Her hand gesture could have been interpreted as either _go away and eat a carfish_ or _who cares anyway_.

Shepard gingerly sat down. "You know these aren't actually meat…." He poked at one of the sausage meat analogues.

The woman gave him a dirty look. "I know. It's the _principle_ of the thing. Why give us anything that even _looks_ like meat when we choose to move beyond it?"

Shepard felt himself on treacherous ground. "You didn't see anything in the manual about basic training, right?"

She forced down another huge mouthful. "Nope. I read it from back to front."

Shepard couldn't resist a cocky grin. "Then I suppose you read the appendix, about the differences between recruits in basic and the full timers?"

He noticed she had omelet on one side of her face. A comparison came to mind, but he manfully pushed it aside.

"Of course not! Who has time for reading the _appendices_? My boyfriend helped me look through it and Verner didn't see anything about this in the app-"

"BACK TO WORK CUPCAKES!" came a familiar bellow. "DAYLIGHT IS COMING AND WE NEED TO BE TEN MILES OUT BY DAWN!"

Shepard made this an excuse to inhale his breakfast. Even so he was almost late for his company.

"What happened to you?" Karl whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

"Homework." Shepard muttered back.

Sergeant Petros missed their little exchange. He had been bellowing at the other end of the line over some infarction. But he managed to give Shepard a dirty look as he reversed his course along the rows.

"THIS IS SERGEANT O'MALLERY. YOU WILL GIVE YOUR BEST ATTENTION TO HIM, OR YOU WILL BE CLEANING OUT THE ENTIRE OUTPOST FOR THE REST OF TRAINING!"

O'Mallery was much quieter than Petros, but he had the same intensity. For a minute he looked over the group carefully. He didn't seem as aggressive, but still, this was a training camp.

"You will be taking standard weight gear, along with standard gear. Your orientation before you got here will have sent your measurements to us, so no whining about ill-fitting gear."

Shepard groaned quietly, but followed the others to gather equipment. The standard armament was one rifle, one assault rifle, one shotgun and one pistol. Each recruit already had an omni-tool, given to them at their medical exam. Genetic modifications were already planned for their individual needs; part of the physical portion of their training was to get the recruits ready for the modifications. Armor, medgel and power supplies were all integrated, nothing exceptional for beginning military, but still formidable enough to be illegal for civilian usage. Shepard found his set easily enough; it had dark black coloration with bright orange stripes down the arms, denoting his status as a recruit. Within ten minutes, he had the entire set broken apart and inspected. He needed help getting it on, however. It felt uncomfortably like donning a set of medieval armor; all he needed was a Morningstar and a white horse.

Once it was fully assembled and sealed, however, it felt surprisingly natural. The armor fit like a glove; a bit bulky at the shoulders and knees perhaps, but remarkably lightweight. Shepard did a few squats and stretches to test its maneuverability, and found it superb.

Fully kitted up, Shepard found a place next to Karl, and the company headed out at a jog. By the time the sun was up, everyone was breathing hard, even the sergeant. They were halfway to the turnaround point, being paced by another Grizzly, which was well planned. When they learned they still had 75% of the course left to complete, three recruits requested to be dropped from the program then and there.

Shepard watched with slightly wondering gaze. "Why did they quit?" he messaged over to Karl on a private line.

Karl jerked slightly at the unexpected sound. His helmet twisted slightly before he realized who had commed him. Instead of answering over the private link, he raised both hands in confusion, with enough of a shrug to make his pauldron shift slightly.

Shepard shook his head in disbelief. The idea that someone would sign up for basic training with an improper idea about the requirements was understandable. The ludicrousness of the situation was that they would quit after experiencing the benefits of a personally fitted armor set. It was like running in an emergency care center; your heart rate was on the HUD display, core temperature, blood pressure and oxygen consumption rate. Additionally the armor was designed to keep the human body at optimum operating order, air conditioning being only one of multiple benefits.

He got his answer at the end of the run when they returned their armor to the racks. Without an exception, the recruits were sweating, red-faced and thirsty.

The physical training sergeant was pretty grim. He was sweating as well, but he had a much more even coloration.

When he did talk, it was with an amused drawl. "Which of you," did his eyes flicker towards Shepard? "Which of you figured out how to actually turn on your armor?"

A cluster of hands went up, then a few more separate hands.

O'Mallery put his hands behind his back and sneered. "Pathetic. None of you asked for instructions, and you paid the price for it. Now how many actually got their suits to work so they didn't kill themselves on that little hike?"

Shepard raised his hand hesitantly. He was the only one.

O'Mallery focused on him like a hawk. "One, out of over fifty recruits. Pathetic."

He turned to include the rest of the company in his baleful glare. "All of you take a look at Shepard. HE managed to figure out how to turn on something as simple as the AC unit. This ain't rocket science princesses, the Alliance Marines has no use for people that have no initiative. Figure it out, or you'll be leaving with a bootprint on the back of your lap!"

O'Mallery glared at Shepard. "Well done boy. You get two choices, either help the rest of these lunkheads figure out how to turn on their flaming armor, or hit the chowder line early."

That was a non-choice choice. If Shepard went to lunch early, he'd have an angry company trying to bring him down the rest of the duration.

"Sir, I will stay, sir!" Shepard barked, eyes forward.

O'Mallery's eyes glittered. "As you choose….the rest of you, put that armor back on. It better be active and ready for action by 1300, in time for a little thing I like to call 'live-fire exercise.'"

Chastened, the company waited for permission, then rushed for the armor sets. Shepard hustled from recruit to recruit, walking them through the process of activating the armor, then running the internal scans that adjusted the settings to individual physiology. The recruits caught on fast, using the inter-communication function to relay directions to other members of the unit. In this fashion, they were done by 1200 hours.

Shepard was turning towards the door when one of the recruits caught his eye. "Yes?" he asked.

The recruit slid his helmet off. "Recruit Appleton, sir. Do we keep the suits on or take them off for lunch?"

Shepard waved away the honorific. "Keep them on, I'm putting mine on myself. This will give you a chance to adjust to the armor, and work on your fine-motor manipulation skills."

The company went out the door towards the mess hall, except for Karl who lingered to help Shepard with his armor. A few other recruits hung back as well.

Karl chuckled on a private line. "Careful Shepard. You may get yourself noticed pretty soon. Then you'll have to beat the ladies off with a stick."

Shepard blushed. "Shut up."

Karl saluted. His helmet was sealed, but the armor shook from laughter. "Aye aye, sir."

The company made for an odd sight; filling several tables with fully armed and powered combat armor wielding recruits. Shepard had to admit it was an intimidating sight, and somewhat humorous. Several recruits didn't quite have the art of eating with gloves on, and were holding their utensils with ridiculous care.

Eating in full kit turned out to be a good thing. At 1230 hours, lunch was interrupted by Sergeant Petros, himself in full combat armor.

"ALL UP AND AT 'EM! TIME FOR COMBAT TRAINING!"

The leather lunged sergeant had barely enough time to scan the room as he bellowed, his eyes bugged out when an entire armored company rose and stampeded towards the door. He was quick on his feet, however, and even quicker mentally, turning to lead the company towards the training field without missing a beat.

"They aren't actually going to use _live_ rounds, are they?" Karl asked Shepard for the tenth time.

The field was stocked with man-shaped targets, or at least humanoid-shaped targets. Ever since the First Contact War of 2157 Alliance military had used more varied targets than ever before. Short squat targets, taller thicker ones, even a few with the distinctive asari cephalo-growths. Asari commandos were some of the deadliest combatants in known space, but there weren't very many of them.

Shepard checked the sight on his rifle, and then slapped his friends' shoulder. "Check your target before you shoot, and maybe we'll get out of this alive." He kept his face completely blank for the benefit of his friend. He was still smarting over the assumption that he had no sense of humor.

A signal horn sounded, and fifty young recruits rushed onto the field. More accurately, forty seven recruits rushed. Three recruits paced their way onto the field as though they had all the time in the world.

Shepard and Karl watched the newcomer with a little surprise. He waved at them, then manipulated his omni-tool into private channel. "I saw you two beforehand and figured something was up, can I join your squad?"

Shepard nodded. "Sure, Karl's my spotter, can you watch our backs?"

The newcomer nodded. "Sure. I'm Arvid by the way."

Shepard nodded again. "Shepard. Pleasure to meet you. Now, set your HUD for constant sweeps and keep an eye on it. We're going to be busy, and will be depending on you for heads up."

Arvid did as he was told, and the three-man crew moved deeper into the field. Unlike most of the others, they didn't charge into the field firing at objects of opportunity. This was a training exercise of combat capability; what had been softpedaled in the directions was that return shots were expected.

"3 o'clock low, slow." Karl snapped.

Shepard swung his rifle to the right, exhaled and stroked the trigger. The gun roared, and a silhouette fell.

Behind them, Arvid swung his assault rifle in small, slow circles. "Movement 6 o'clock high." He reported.

Shepard made a hand gesture and the squad slunk off under some underbrush. A drone flew overhead scanning the terrain, missing the trio.

Karl was still watching, "Target, 1 o'clock, 150 feet."

Shepard swung left, raised the barrel a trifle and squeezed off. "Child's play."

Arvid opened up behind them, the sudden noise startling the other two almost into jumping out of their position. Karl turned as well and fired a high-carnage blast with his shotgun. Within seconds the silhouettes that had popped up behind them were reduced to so much horizontal polymers.

Sergeant Petros was watching through the observation programs built in to the recruits systems. "Hmmm…I wonder…" he muttered. Unlike what the recruits saw so often, he was relaxed in a chair in front of a series of screens. The same three recruits were replicated on those screens, and racking up a high kill score. They'd secured a fairly defensible position, and while the man with the assault rifle was gunning down opponents at an impressive rate, the other two were working as a highly efficient fire team. One seemed to be directing fire, while the other, while sniping, actually seemed to be analyzing the situation and making recommendations for the squads overall tactics. Efficient, and deadly, just what the Alliance was looking for…maybe.

"Captain?" he called.

A square-jawed man with dark skin strolled over. He watched the squad in action silently, expression giving nothing away. "Interesting." Was all he said.

"Sir?" the sergeant questioned? "Do you have any recommendations?"

Captain Anderson smiled broadly. "Of course sergeant. Watch them, and watch that boy," he pointed at Shepard. "If he continues to excel, there may be a place for him in the N7 program. Until we know more, anything else is premature."

The sergeant saluted. "Yes sir."

"And sergeant?"

Petros turned reflexively. "sir?"

Andersons face was serious, "Don't make it easy now. That won't help him any."

Sergeant Petros saluted. "That has never entered my job description, sir."

"Good man."

Karl shouted out more targets for Shepard, Arvid sprayed surprisingly disciplined fire down the far side. At this point they'd gathered several more members, including the vegetarian woman that Shepard had met earlier.

Arvid squinted past his scope, "Shepard!" he yelled over his shoulder, "Friendly pinned, 5 o'clock, seventy-five feet!"

The woman jumped past Shepard, "I'm on it!" she screeched as she went over the wall.

Shepard tried grabbing her leg but she was too fast. "Wait, we have to cover…." But she was too fast for him. He gritted his teeth and popped up over the barrier, "Cover her!"

That was actually a redundant command, not to mention it exposed his lack of basic knowledge, like her name. But at least his shout had alerted another rifleman to help cover her position.

Her path was not erratic enough, though, and her suit shut down one of her leg armor pieces before she reached the bottom of the hill.

As she collapsed, Shepard took a moment to organize. "Karl, spot for Arvid. You, you and you, "he pointed at two assault gun wielders and a pistol man, "cover me, but watch the sides."

Then he was off and running down the hill, dodging around trees and brush like a slalom skier, minus the skis. One of his arms shut down movement, forcing him to drop his rifle. By the time he reached the woman, his HUD showed himself at 30% armor, so he waited a few seconds for the repair protocols to activate.

"You're just making me look bad." She scowled angrily at him. "That's my boyfriend out there, I got to rescue him!"

Shepard examined her suit, its readout signified a permanent heavy injury, simulated, but restricting nonetheless.

"He knew the risks, I'll get him after I get you back up."

She struggled somewhat as he hefted her into the firemans carry, but settled down when a rifle shot cracked next to her helmet and took down the silhouette of a turian soldier.

Shepard reached the barrier boulders at the top of the hill and knelt to roll her over. As he did so, his suit made a sudden pinging noise, and the HUD flickered red.

"Sorry Karl, I'm ko'd." he called. Unfortunately, when a soldier is marked as dead in practice, his communication system is put offline, preventing cheating, such as "dead bodies" reporting enemy movements behind enemy lines. Captain Grissom may have been able to get away with that, but he was the only one.

Karl leaned over the wall and pulled Shepards stiff body back to safety. He entered a code that unlocked Shepards suit, somehow.

"OVERRIDE!" he bellowed over the deafening cacophony of automatic assault weaponry. "ALLOWS COMMANDERS TO ADMINSTER MEDGEL EVEN WHEN YOU'RE UNCONSCIOUS!"

Shepard filed away that particular fact for future reference. "Thanks! I owe you!"

Karl slapped Shepards head down behind the wall. "Then get your gun in gear and start sniping!"

Within seconds their deadly duet began making havoc over the field once more.

Sergeant Petros leaned back in his chair. "Well Shepard," he muttered. "I'm keeping my eye on _you_."

_Authors note: this ran a little longer than I anticipated, so I'm breaking it into two. This idea has grown far beyond my original plan, but should still be done within 4-5 chapters._

_Thank you for your time._

_Vercingetorix_


	3. Basic Training: Part II

_Authors Note: I think I'm settling down on around 4,500-5000 words per chapter. That should be around 10-15 minutes reading time for most readers, or a few hours writing time for me. I'm findingthis to be an enjoyable experience, and I hope you are as well. Thank you for your comments, reviews and kind attention. I truly appreciate, from the bottom of my…um…aortic pulmonary artery._

Basic Training: Part II

On the North American continent, there is a large stretch of grassland, rich in farmland and pastures. Certain areas possess diversity in geographical features, deep lakes and thick forests, all covered in miles of open sky. Mountainous terrain can be reached simply by traveling west to the Rocky Mountains, and cold climates can be reached by going north. Even extreme temperatures of heat can be reached by going south to the infamous Death Valley, one of the deadliest environments on Earth.

These locations each have outposts for training the best fighters of the Alliance, but one of the largest of these training centers lies in the northern section of the Great Plains. Here, basic training occurs, with extreme prejudice.

Shepard ran in full armor, exhaling as fast as he inhaled. The air he breathed was recycled and fed through his armors' systems to replenish its oxygen content. To his right ran Karl, his fire buddy, spotter and friend. To his left ran Arvid, fellow recruit and assault rifle aficionado. All three wore full kit, four weapons affixed to their back mounted mag plates. Compared to the professional armies of previous centuries, these soldiers had it easy, in part. The armor they wore gave physical boosts to their capabilities, especially when synced to the bearer properly. Their weapons were much lighter as well, made of ferro-ceramics and mass effect generators. Guns didn't even need to be reloaded anymore, although waiting the mandatory cooldown period was a bit of a bother.

It had not rained for several weeks in their locale, and the dust appearing behind their pounding feet proved it. Weather had become more extreme in the last century, but the discovery of Prothean technology and inevitable inclusion to a greater galactic community had introduced methods impossible to achieve earlier. With this new technology, the weather and general biosphere conditions were finally improving in the greatest extent seen in the history of humanity.

All that was beyond the musings of Shepard and his comrades, however. They were being timed, and while the task itself may have been made easier, the goals had been made harder.

The HUD display in Shepards helmet was counting down. Currently it read 7:56.

Shepard strained his legs just a little farther; his second wind had come almost fifteen minutes ago, and only the support of his armor was helping him keep the pace. He sensed Arvid and Karl gradually falling behind, but he didn't have the lung capacity to spare vocalizing encouragement. Instead he activated his omni-tool, and fired off a previously recorded message.

It was obvious that his messages worked, both of his friends stepped up their efforts, ceasing to lose ground. Arvid even managed a little gesture, not exactly complimentary.

Farther ahead, just beyond a clump of sagebrush was another pair of runners. Their rate was slower than Shepards, which meant his squad was rapidly approaching them. Too fast, much too fast.

Somehow, Shepard found the wherewithal to shout a hasty warning. Unfortunately, it caused the two runners ahead to just twist their heads in confusion, completely ignoring their HUD displays. Shepard was almost right on top of the lagging runner when she figured out where he was. She shrieked and tripped, just at edge of the last hill.

The recruits called it "Hail Mary Hill," the place where transport drivers held a rosary in one hand, the door handle in the other, and kept one foot on the brake at all times. The danger wasn't primarily in the steepness of the hill (38 degrees, increasing in parts), but in the slippery grass that covered the slope.

Shepard leaped as the recruit ahead of him fell. On either side of him, Karl and Arvid made twisting motions, somehow avoiding impact. But then they were over the lip and headed down.

For one heartstopping moment, Shepard found himself airborne. Arvid and Karl ran easily down the hill, long strides eating up the distance. Karl found himself coming down barely on both feet, off balance. A memory surfaced from his childhood, when his father would take him east of town to the toboggan slopes. No time to think….

Arvid flashed past Shepard as he dodged the falling body. Shepard had been in front, but the jump had slowed him down. Karl was parallel to Arvid, and both were now using the slope to their advantage. They had less than two miles to the finish, and the hill was one of the best boosts on their time trial. Besides, this was the closest thing to flying, outside of an actual biotic lift.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arvid saw something catching up. Tilting his head slightly, he was able to get a better look, and almost lost his stride.

Shepard had landed wrong, but turned the fall into a slide. He was on his knees using the wide portion of the greaves, toes pointed straight behind, calves parallel and arms spread for balance. The visor didn't hide the look of concentration on his face.

It shouldn't work, it had no reason to be possible, but Shepard somehow was making it work. By the bottom of the hill, he'd made up the ground he'd lost and actually increased it by a bit.

He picked himself up, a bit stiff from the rough treatment, and kept running, dead even with the squad. Together, they ran as if there were no tomorrow; sergeants were wonderful motivators when they put their minds to it.

The timer ticked downwards, 3:52 and shrinking. The last half-mile positively flew past their practiced feet. All of them were young, and under the best of both medical care and the galaxy's best human instructors. At the half-way point of Basic, most of them had even received the gene altering modifications standard to Alliance military. The combination of variables, plus the exemplary health all the candidates were in, resulted in a 10 mile run in under 33 minutes.

Sergeant O'Mallery glared as Shepard slowed to a halt. "Congratulations hotshot, a new camp record. But I've seen your test runs, and this is _not_ your best. "

Shepard would have scowled if he hadn't been panting for air. "Sir, permission to speak freely sir?"

O'Mallery waved his hand dismissively. "Denied. Get to target practice, and this time I want to see clusters at the two-mile range, understand?"

Shepard saluted and left, trying not to hear Karl and Arvid being congratulated on making a new camp record. It would be petty to think meanly of their achievement, and they had worked hard for it.

A shoulder almost knocked him off his feet. A woman….Shepard couldn't remember her name… pointedly kept her back to him as she stalked quickly to the target range. Mrs Verner, now he remembered. Her boyfriend had washed out of Basic a few weeks back and the two had decided to get married over the weekend. It was an odd reason to get married in Shepards way of thinking, but it took all types to make the world go 'round. Whatever the reason, she intensely disliked him…oh. Realization struck. She'd been the recruit he'd been forced to jump over during the run…and she'd already disliked his rescuing her instead of her boyfriend a few weeks earlier… no wonder she was acting as if he were anathema.

Shepard inhaled and exhaled a few times breathing exercises. Unfair blame made him more angry than almost anything else in the universe, but this too would pass.

Breathing exercises only helped in moderation, and only temporarily. Sooner or later, he'd have to think about the situation and come to grips with it. On the other hand, causing large quantities of destruction was therapeutic. High quality but small quantity damage was good for the soul as well. Either worked.

The gun rack had the usual assortment of medium quality weaponry, never anything like his old Volkov VIII, or even an Equalizer V. Nothing in the recruit armory was really of superlative quality, except maybe the armor itself. Trusting life support to low-quality armor would be the epitome of insanity. Something gleamed out of the corner of his eye, something out of place, tantalizing the peripheral edges of his awareness. Then, he saw it, sitting on the end of the rack. Beautiful, glistening as if it had come fresh from the factory, looking so sleek Shepard was half afraid it would fly off by itself.

Shepard looked around quickly, no one was around, except Sergeant Petros. That was a little surprising in and of itself; Shepard had caught Petros staring at him at odd times, and the sergeant was almost always positioned somewhere where he could see, but be hard to be seen. Maybe he thought Shepard was going to crack when no one was looking, or was doing something illegal? That was a mystery for later, because here, on the gun rack…was The Gun.

An M-98 Widow, Anti-material rifle. Here. On. The. Rack.

The M-98 had only been recently developed, it was supposed to be experimental, not even in mass production phase. It had been advertised (within limited circles) as being developed for elite sniper teams, and could be wielded only by krogan or mounted platforms. Usually, more of the latter, since krogan didn't have the mentality for typical long-range combat. It had been designed with a much heavier, longer barrel than most sniper rifles; all the better to support a larger, more powerful mass accelerator with its unique rails. Even folded up, the M-98 was as massive as some assault rifles. This was the sniper rifle to take down vehicles, krogan and anything that had less armor than a Dreadnought. Its range was 10+ miles. Its damage, in excess of anything less than a vehicle mounted mass accelerator cannon. For durability, it was off the doggone Mohr scale.

Almost reverently, Shepard lifted The Gun in all its glory…and almost dropped it. It weighed almost half as much as his armor. He glanced left, then right, using his HUD to keep it inconspicuous. No one was watching, not even Sergeant Petros. Quickly, yet with nonchalance, he hefted the weighty piece of hardware over to the modification table, where he quickly field stripped it and put it back together. Some parts were a little alien to him, so he added a more familiar scope, a scram rail, and just for the sheer overpowered awesomeness, an explosive round mod for the ammunition block.

Grunting slightly, he hauled it out to the farthest pad, the distance wouldn't dampen the sound, but maybe the distance would dissuade the curious from approaching. The padded practice mound was lumpy, since no one really wanted to replace the farthest site, but he'd deal with it.

The Gun hummed as he flipped the activation trigger, and slid with near silence to its ready position. The latches clicked into place, matte black upon matte gray, a snipers dream. The scope moved slickly into position, and the ammo mod lit up in the sights.

Shepard selected his targets, and bumped it to "Interactive Heuristic." That made the VI react to how accurately his shots landed, and responded accordingly.

Lying down, he squinted through the HUD display, and then sighted down the barrel. The traditional target was at the usual heightened sniper distance, around 7,200 feet. Shepard focused in on the concentric circles, gauging the wind speed, and then carefully squeezed the trigger. A roar reminiscent of a bygone age involving massive gunpowder weapons mounted on floating platforms _erupted_ from the muzzle. Only the helmet saved his hearing, but Shepard was too elated to notice such mundane things as personal safety. The scope showed not only a hole, but an entire missing center to the round target. He must've hit dead center for the ragged edge to be so uniformly distributed within the third ring…he had to try more.

Sergeant Petros kept his back to Shepard. The kid had found the M-98, just as he'd suspected, and had scuttled away with it. No mask could hide the kids excitement, it had been evident through body language; that was something he'd have to learn if he were to actually partake in the N7 program. Petros made a note of that and forwarded it to O'Mallery. Both sergeants liked Shepard, and had worked out a good cop/bad cop routine, both had decided to be the bad cop.

Using his command overrides, Sergeant Petros watched Shepard make modifications to the gun, wincing at the speed. That gun was on site solely because his superiors had believed it necessary for testing potential candidates. Many would long to use it, few would actually take it, and even fewer would be any good with it. Hence, the Powers That Be had decreed it would be present only in the company of a superior officer…this prototype was worth more than both sergeants would make in five years salary. It was technically a scaled down version of the Mako cannon, and (according to R&D) was still ten years from completion.

Petros watched as Shepard hustled over to the most inconspicuous box on the firing range, odd behavior for him. Some of the students spared him a look; Petros wrote himself another note. Body language training would be joined with typical behavior analysis. Shepard was already receiving twice as much training as the other recruits, not that any, least of all Shepard, understood that fact. So far it had been disguised as remedial or beneficial options for people of a certain background. So far, Shepard had taken every optional class made available to him. Good.

When Shepard pulled the trigger for the first time, Petros nearly jumped out of his boots. The exposure from his override made it seem as if the shot had come two feet beyond his own head.

Other students stared at the unusual decibel level, but returned to their own target practice. Their ear protectors must have muffled the noise to the point where it sounded like a sniper rifle going off in the next booth.

Petros stopped avoiding any pretense of disinterest, this he had to see. Eagerly he trotted behind Shepards booth, took a half step to the right behind a tree, and watched.

Shepard blew apart the standard target, not that it was really standard, no surprise. The boy would have been in for the Marksmen award if he were out of Basic. The easy targets always went up for him. The farther targets however, were a challenge even for the best of Alliance Marksmen.

Apparently, no one had informed Shepard. The recruit focused and fired with almost manic intensity. Targets caught fire, were blown off their stands, or simply vaporized under the assault of the prototype weapon. The VI couldn't keep up, every moving target became so much flying particulates. Petros had to use a pair of binoculars to see some of the more distant shots; a pity the shooting range only went five miles out. He made another note, that was an oversight that must be corrected in the immediate future.

With a start, Petros came to a realization. The targets were disappearing fast…too fast. Shepard must not have realized how far his scope could reach, because targets were vanishing from other recruits marked areas. It didn't seem to matter where the target was placed; tiny distant targets and half-hidden medium ranged targets were hit without prejudice.

The other recruits were noticing the sudden disappearance of their targets, however. They also noticed the regular retorts booming from the end of the field and drew the logical conclusion. First one recruit, then another popped up to look. Then some started walking towards the far end.

Petros stepped in before the closest could begin interrogation. He stood behind Shepard, and cleared his throat loudly. Shepard didn't hear, of course. The throat clearing was a little performance for the other students. It never hurt to build the rep for sarcastic, caustic leadership.

Shepard came to a stop on his own, flipping the VI to standby mode. He rose to his knees and looked out over the field, admiring his accuracy. With a delighted grin, he turned around…only to meet Sergeant Petros and half of recruits on the practice range lined up behind him.

Sergeant Petros watched the grin fade into impassiveness. _Good. He's learning._

"And where, if I may be so bold, did you get that piece of equipment?" He asked in a kindly tone.

Shepard winced.

"YOU BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN A SINGLE SCRATCH ON THAT RIFLE, BOY, OR I'LL HAVE YOU DISHONORABLY DISCHARGED BEFORE YOU EVEN OFFICIALLY JOIN THE SERVICE!" Petros bellowed. He liked bellowing, he was good at it. That's why he was in the position he was in, to try to ram training and good sense through the auditory canals of these green recruits.

"No sir, no scratches sir." Shepard quietly saluted.

Petros snatched the rifle, hiding his surprise at the weight as a grimace and slammed the butt end into the ground. It didn't take much effort, that gun was _heavy_. "GET BACK TO THE OBSTACLE COURSE! I WANT A DOZEN REPITIONS BY MESSTIME!"

Shepard saluted and ran off. The other recruits, entertainment over began to wander back, when Petros bellowed at them. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY STOPPING FIRE PRACTICE? I'VE NEVER SEEN SUCH INCOMPETENCE! TRAIN UNTIL YOUR EYEBALLS BLEED, THAT'S THE ONLY WAY YOU LOSERS-"

Even as he continued on the well-practiced rant, Petros tipped an invisible hat to Shepard. It wasn't every recruit that had the natural talent to handle the M-98. Maybe this one had the potential that captain thought he'd seen.

As usual, dawn broke early, and the recruits were working out before the dawn. The advantage of their northern latitude was an early sunrise and a late sunset…which was also the detriment as well.

This day heralded the culminating practical phase of their technological know-how. All Alliance members, Navy, Marines or other, were given a thorough grounding in the standard technology of war.

Shepard was surrounded by his usual squad, helping break down the EMP emitters on their omni-tools. This particular device was very familiar to Shepard; the few predators capable of harming a human on Mindoir were easily deterred by the static shock induced by the EMP device. On a shielded and armed opponent, however, such technology was far more potent. EMP's could change configuration to short out shield emitters, HUD displays, internal armor systems and weapon subroutines. It was the bread and butter of front-line combatants.

A second tool they'd already covered in the standard Alliance soldiers' arsenal was the hacking capability, an extension of the on-board computer all omni-tools were designed around. This allowed Alliance combatants to gain control of simpler enemy drones, and alter the IFF protocols on many semi-independent weapons. Even the most basic omni-tool had hacking routines built in, but the more elaborate versions possessed heuristic subroutines that stored past patterns. Those patterns were incorporated in later hacking attempts in conjunction with the skill of the wielder; in this fashion a average soldier could use the hacking module, but a skilled user could exponentially increase the capabilities of a hack.

While Shepard may have been good, Karl exhibited an unusual proficiency with the hacking function of the omni-tool. His sense of humor made that capability a formidable ally in what he called "pranking," or what Shepard called "being a pest." Still, Shepard could appreciate some of the applications Karl found "necessary" to test his training.

During training sessions, Karl found it exceedingly humorous to remotely add to the programming in the omni-tools of other recruits. Some examples of that addition included making the auto responses for IFF recognition included various farm animal noises, or the lyrics to loud songs. On this particular day, he'd enlisted Shepards help; the goal of this prank was to enlist the support, willing or no, of all omni-tools in the immediate vicinity. This was something he insisted on calling a "botnet," although no robotics or even VI's were involved.

This class was being run by a Corporal Nehru. Nehru was pending reassignment after a successful tour of duty on the Madrid, and had been requested to fill in for the regular instructor at the Alliance training center. Nehru was a short woman, with dark hair and an easygoing expression belying keen mind, ready to pounce on mistakes. To be fair, she was equally ready to praise success, but the general lack of success made the overwhelming majority of commentary negative.

Shepard waited as Karl slowly reassembled his emitter. Brilliant as they publicly admitted, both of them could have had the entire omni-tool in pieces, randomized and reassembled in the amount of time Karl was taking, but something had struck the pair: when someone field-stripped their omni-tool, they needed to re-enter their security clearance upon reactivation. Karl had come up with the idea of prolonging the time their own omni-tools were disassembled so that the important parts, the sensors, could be intact and operating while the rest of the class dutifully made alterations to their omni-tools, and re-entered their security information.

Shepard had reasoned further that if one sensor was difficult to detect, broadcasting the recorded data omnidirectionally would obscure exactly where the data was being sent, especially if the target was another disassembled omnitool, and the information was scrambled over obscure frequencies. So, Karl worked on his sensor array while Shepard fine-tuned his data center. Together, the two parts would have been a low-grade blip on the electronic security; separate, they didn't even register as being active.

Corporal Nehru coughed meaningfully as the class period entered its final fifteen minutes. The recruits began frantically assembling their last components.

Karl and Shepard, on the other hand, were doing a headcount. Arvid had traveled to the other side of the room, ostensibly for more parts, and had an excellent view of the occupants. They already had most of the security clearance codes from this class, but a few recruits had been slower than others, forcing the trio to reassemble their hardware prior to obtaining the data. Arvid knew who these people were, and kept an eye on them. As soon as one or more of the slower people had finished, he would signal Karl by making his own task chirp as it was reassembled.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard saw Karl tense. Keeping his own head down, he tilted a conductor, angling it to reflect the same view Karl had. Corporal Nehru had just taken off her omni-tool and was disassembling it with lightning speed. Show off.

One shared glance was all the two needed. Karl tore apart his sensor array and started a wide angle link between Shepard and Arvids implements, low intensity. He also shifted a stack of conductive wire next to his broadcast unit, damping the signal to one side and throwing off anyone who might think of triangulating the signals origin. Arvid dropped a broken memory chip that somehow caught in the cuff of his pants (to be reassembled later), while Shepard connected his sensor suite to Karls' linkup. Within two minutes, they had the data they needed.

Shepard shifted to assembly mode, misconnecting, then reconnecting wires in just as an eager but somewhat incompetent student would manage. Karl on the other hand kept his facial expression in the attitude of a gifted but lazy individual. Both managed to finish their assembly projects minutes before they had to exit. As such, they were among the last to leave, and earned a stern glance from Corporal Nehru.

They had some free time afterwards, which they spent, as usual, on the firing range. Most recruits spent extra time there, and on the mat inside the gymnasium.

"What do we even need this data for?" Arvid asked. He was toying with the spare memory chip they'd liberated. The information they obtained was kept on standard memory chips, but they swapped out the chips with rebuilt ones, in case of suspicious superiors.

Shepard shrugged, reaching for an assault rifle. "You never know, besides it keeps our skills sharp."

Karl positively glowed with mischievous satisfaction. "Besides, they need to learn to turn off the broadcast switch. If we can do it, an enemy combatant could as well."

"I hear the final is a doozy." Shepard commented, changing the subject. "You have to pick a squadmate and just try to survive for a day out in live-fire."

"Live fire?" Arvid almost combusted, "What kind of morons-"

Karl interrupted, "Not really live fire, just enough to show where we were hit, and how. Although I hear Sergeant O'Mallery actually got caught with his pants down and has an interesting mark on his-"

Gunshots drowned out the rest of his sentence as Shepard opened up with an assault rifle. Pellet shavings sprayed everywhere, hitting most of the scenery and none of the targets. Instead of firing the usual short burst and releasing, he seemed stunned by the metallic clattering next to his helmet and kept the trigger down. The barrage stopped only when the heat sink overloaded and kicked off the firing mechanism. The sound of a chiding beep echoed accusingly.

Arvid held the broken memory chip in one hand. "What…was…that?"

Shepard gingerly held the assault rifle away from himself, treating the muzzle as if it were red-hot. "How can you even use these things?" He directed himself at Arvid. "They have all the finesse of a cheap volus skycar knockoff!"

Arvid picked up the rifle. "It isn't really that bad. I mean okay, it's a Heliat Kolakov III, but it has a decent amount of damage for its rating."

Karl was still staring at Shepard. "I've seen you bulls-eye targets over four miles away! How could you miss _everything_…."

Shepard winced. "Never really worked much with one of those."

Silence filled the air as Arvid looked over the Kolkavov III. Then, Karl started laughing. Loudly. Uproariously.

Shepard eventually had to chuckle as well. It was impossible not too; Karls' laughter was like taxes. You may not want to share in it, but you ended up taking part in the end.

The final days of Basic Training arrived. A bit under half of the original group of recruits had left, either by dropping out, or being forced out. Only two weeks were left, but oddly enough, there was another potential route opening up. All the recruits were paying unusually close attention.

"You have two options." O'Mallery was briefing the entire company. "Option one, and by far the most popular option, is to continue training in this course and get your certificate in two weeks."

The sergeant stopped to smile sardonically. He'd been through the First Contact War, and knew well enough how practical the first option was; like a chocolate kettle.

"The second option is harder, but it gives a lot of benefits. Here's what you need to know."

"The old Navy Seals used to go through something called 'Hell Week.' Basically, it was a method of running a lot of athletic punks into the ground, forcing them to survive on nothing but adrenalin, teammates and their training. Here in the 23rd century, we have a bit more sophisticated method for gathering the elite. It's a harsh one-week program, but anyone who passes gets an automatic commendation, a week off, and a serious advantage for officer training should you choose to apply. On the other hand, failure means we have to assume that you don't quite have the brains to know your own limits, and you will have to repeat half of Basic Training. If interested, see me afterwards."

The recruits were buzzing as O'Mallery stepped back. They were eager enough to be finished as it was, but the news of an added possible shortcut was like oil on flames.

The rest of the briefing went as usual, a little more polite now that most of the training was over. Somehow, it was either easier or harder to be rude to people with whom you'd shared responsibilities. To the Sergeants, it was the end of another semester of sorts, their protégé's had been delivered safely through yet another hazard-filled time. As good as the technology may have been, the fact remained that there were hundreds of hormone-affected young adults, all lacking a certain amount of mental development usually known as "horse sense."

Afterwards, Shepard approached Sergeant O'Mallery. The aged sergeant grinned knowingly as the younger man approached.

"Somehow I knew you'd be first in line for this, Shepard. Lemme guess, you want to sign up for a week of drudgery, toil and fear?"

Shepard snapped a salute, and waited for the sergeant to return it. "No sir, I want to apply for a chance to prove myself, and get a week off in the bargain. Sir."

The sergeant shook his head amusedly. "The Council races think we're a sleeping giant Shepard. Only 3% of our entire population actually volunteer for military service, but the ones that do…" he looked proudly at Shepard. "They show the whole galaxy we outclass anything they're capable of doing. Request approved. See you on the other side."


	4. Basic Training: the Final

_Authors Note: My apologies that this had taken so long to get out. My laptop failed; the "e" and "s" keys utterly quit working. As you can imagine, most paragraphs utilize many of those letters, particularly when using "Shepard" as a name, making me lag in my goals. I also just got back in town (and am now back out of town), and had to take a week to obtain a new writing implement._

_ My thanks for your reviews and suggestions. I have some revision for grammar in previous chapters, so do not think anything you notice is too small to bring up. Special thanks to __**Drussius**__ for his suggestions on subject division._

_ And so, let it begin!_

~o~O~o~

Basic Training: III

The engine of the Mako rumbled contentedly, if such a thing were possible. Makos were the backbone of Alliance infantry ground transport. All civilizations had various versions of it, barring the asari, and maybe the salarians. Asari didn't have the numbers to necessitate specialized transports, and the salarians almost never allowed anyone to catch a glimpse of their own troop transport vehicles. Turians, on the other hand, had something like miniaturized wheeled assault craft; all armor and bristling weaponry. Not as much seating room either; the birds must have enjoyed packing efficiently.

With all the turning and bumping, Shepard had no clue where he was going. By the feel of things, he'd gone up and down a lot, but Makos did that. The belly thrusters encouraged that kind of maneuvering.

So far, however, all Shepard knew was that he'd been traveling for over 15 standard hours for this exercise, over half of which he'd been sleeping. Every experienced soldier he'd met had recommended the benefit of gaining as much slumber as possible, whenever possible. Shepard conceded the wisdom of such a view, and had encouraged his companions to adopt a similar perspective.

This was the Final test for Basic Training. When the choice had been to either excel or accept the standard grade, both Arvid and Karl had volunteered for this opportunity. Success meant honors, glory and more importantly, time off. Failure meant another six months in Basic and a reprimand for overestimating their own capabilities; nothing big for civilian activities, but a black mark on the records of most Alliance soldiers. Time required for remedial training was acceptable, unless it detracted from the end goal of creating a combat-ready soldier within a certain time frame. Delaying by a matter of days was frowned upon; weeks was worthy of mild remonstrance. Months was court-martial material, depending on the circumstances.

At any rate, a full dozen of the Maw platoon had decided to take the advanced option. With all modesty, Shepard felt he and his two companions were best fitted for success, unlike the glowering Mrs Verner on the opposite bench seat. Still, he had to admit that it was up to each individual to determine what was optimal for him or her-self. Within reason; any ideas like going kamikaze in the middle of allies being good for the soul was out. Shepard believed in freedom, and no definition of freedom was complete without that most essential freedom to accept the consequences.

Finally, the Mako ground to a bouncing halt. He could tell by the subtle way all the wheels stayed on the ground at the same time.

As the side hatch slid down, the first breath of fresh air blew into the transport. More accurately, it fell inside, colder than the inside air coiling around their ankles and rising slowly along their armor. Everyone hit the seals on their armor, except for Shepard, Arvid, and a recruit on the far side of the transport who looked half bear.

Outside was just as cold as the wind had promised. But, Shepard had to admit, it wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. The wind was coming over some hills that surrounded the Mako, mountains rising in the distance, cold and majestic. It looked like snow was on the upper third of those mountains, which wasn't much of a surprise. Earth had returned to a more primal weather pattern, thanks to nearly a century of solar fluctuations and a runaway industry. This place, however, reminded him of Mindoir on the north side of town. His home town had been settled near mineral deposits in the hills for easy access, but close enough to the plains for rich farmland, this looked very similar. When Shepard was a child long-term plans had been made to add a smaller colony farther up in the hills in order to develop the mines more quickly. The slaver attack had put paid to the fruition of that particular plan.

The recruits had learned well. Instead of milling around uncertainly, these people examined their surroundings, looking for bolt holes and cover. Some were already adapting their armor to the surrounding vegetation for camouflage purposes. Shepard checked his weapons; a Brawler VII pistol and to his joy, a Volkov IX sniper rifle. The quartermaster had allowed him a limited number of "credits," to purchase weapons. All part of the evaluation process Shepard supposed. The Volkov felt good in his hands, if a little different, like some of the musicians he had watched when he was younger. Their instruments were as much a part of them as their own hands…..or claws now that he thought of it. Whatever.

A new officer was getting out of another Mako. He was tall, almost as tall as Shepard, and dark-skinned. The rank insignia showed him to be a Navy Captain, not unusual for Basic. The Alliance group had grown up as a fringe organization and had accepted the most efficient cross-training methods by the First Contact War. Squids and jarheads still had a healthy rivalry, but when bigger threats loomed, the two branches had dealt with it.

For several minutes Shepard watched the captain wander through the recruits, like a sheepdog checking the flock. After watching for a few minutes, he realized there was a pattern to the captains' path. He rarely encountered the same person twice, yet he managed to speak with nearly everyone present. Even when focusing on one person, he kept his head up, keeping an eye on the others with his peripheral vision. That, Shepard thought, was a useful trick.

Finally the captain made it to Shepard.

"Private Shepard, I'm Captain Anderson. Good to meet you son." He shook hands with the recruit, quick and professional, as if they were equals.

"Sir, it's an honor, sir." Shepard would have saluted if his hand were free.

"No need for that, I'm about to run you through the mill here." Captain Anderson had a quiet smile, mostly in the eyes. "Save it for the brass that cares about formality."

"Sir?"

Anderson stepped back. "Never mind, you'll get the same briefing as everyone else." He nodded in farewell and moved towards one side of the group. Everyone naturally turned in the same direction as he moved, so by the time he reached the edge the whole squad was facing him.

Anderson turned, confronting them, arms behind his back. "Soldiers. I call you _soldiers_ because at this point in time, you have earned it. You have finished all of your training, and achieved equality with any other member of the Alliance military. What you have chosen to undergo is what makes you _special_, the test you have been waiting for, the challenge to seek honor and fame."

"Today, you will be going where few soldiers dare to go, through a challenge every bit as grueling as anything our ancestors underwent." The captain grinned sardonically, "Maybe even more grueling."

"This will constitute as your final test, and my little speech here will be both your briefing and your deployment orders. When I finish speaking, the clock will be ticking. How you use that time is completely up to you; no help will be given at all, and no transport will be coming to get you, except as an emergency."

Karl and Arvid glanced at Shepard. He gave them a confident half-smile. This was going to be fun!

Anderson hadn't finished speaking. "You are now in Canada, the second largest nation in the world. You have been dropped at a random location in the center of one million square miles of government parkland, known as the NorthWest Forest National Park."

"Your objective is to travel from this point to the west coast, within 164 hours. To liven it up a bit, this will also be a simulation of being behind enemy lines, with no support and no extraction available."

The captain gestured behind himself to a row of armored soldiers that seemingly came from nowhere. Several recruits gasped; Shepard narrowed his eyes, examining the camouflage the soldiers had used. It definitely wasn't standard issue, it looked more like randomly placed shrubbery from the local area, including…wild prairie rose? Something was definitely off here….

"These soldiers are N5's. They have very graciously offered their time and talents to ensure you have something to keep you going." One of the soldiers chuckled. Anderson glanced back at him before adding, "In essence, they will be the enemy troops hunting you, and will start about three hours after the briefing. Please remember that you are to try and not kill any allied combatants. That's frowned upon in any theatre of war. Note also that your weapons have been modified to include a safe-fail system. If you aim at one of these men and women, and especially if you pull the trigger on them, your gun will fire a reduced concussive round, and a report with all of the information your armor possesses to Command. Expulsion is possible if you try to override the safe-fail, so please check your targets."

"I know this is a very non-specific briefing, but the only directions I will give you is this: Go west young man. It should be a walk in the park. Good luck."

Shepard chuckled. This man even gave orders in a classy fashion. He turned, caught the eye of his two friends and motioned towards the mountains. All three pivoted and ran.

They bolted through the other recruits, most of whom were still waiting for more instruction, and found a steady jogging pace they could keep up all day. Shepard had been right, this _was_ going to be fun!

~o~O~o~

_10 hours_

The three soldiers had been jogging for quite a while. It was a pleasant enough task, rolling hills spread in every direction, fir trees and spruces scattered themselves thickly on the higher portions of the terrain while silver maple and live oak populated the lower regions.

Wildlife was abundant as well. White-tailed deer flagged their tails and faded like ghosts when they noticed the men charging through. Birds scolded them from the safety of the trees; one blue jay in particular followed, screaming at them for almost a mile before finally leaving them alone.

However, helpful armor or no, they needed rest. They found it in a cave hidden in the rocky section of the hills, facing the mountains. Arvid took first watch while the other two went farther in to better judge the safety of their situation.

Karl groaned as he rubbed his hip lightly. "Ooooh, my thighs will be queuing up to speak to me tomorrow. Think I'm gonna have a mild rebellion when we're done here. Is everyone good if I just take a nap for the next few hours?"

Shepard chuckled. He was using the flashlight function of his omni-tool to examine the walls of the subterranean curiosity. "I think we should have about four hours total, we have a schedule to keep and I don't trust those N5's.

"Agreed. Something about them made me feel…twitchy." Karl pulled up his own omni-tool to run a scan. "Nothing around us for a few hundred meters, excluding Arvid."

Nothing had occurred by the time they returned, except Arvid had rigged up one of his EMP charges with a limited detonation. Arvid immediately dropped off while Karl took first watch. Instead of going to sleep, Shepard started working with some wire he'd pulled out of his kit pouch.

He worked in silence as the water from a nearby stream bubbled past. A kingfisher landed near the cave, cocking its head at the intruders. It was a brilliant blue, with russet undertones by the wings, far too flashy to be missed by prospective prey. Then, it dove, plummeting into the stream for a few seconds before powering its way up and out with a small fish.

Shepard looked up, catching Karl looking amused at where the bird had gone.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asked.

Karl looked unusually thoughtful. "Just thinking. No matter how blatant a threat can be, no matter how many times it repeats itself, it will always find prey."

Shepard finished a last knot. "True. That's why we can survive wilderness training without opening highly visible food containers, or finding a place to store them."

Curious, Karl looked at the loops dangling from Shepards hand. "What are those?"

"Snares, for rabbits mostly. I learned how back on Mindoir, everyone has to take survival classes, guess it finally paid off, eh?" Shepard took one of the loops and showed how it tightened. "I added a voltage to it so whatever I catch will have a painless, instant end."

Karl shook his head. "Now I've seen everything, the colony kid that thinks he's Robinson Crusoe."

Shepard bent on his haunches, grinning. "I'm going a bit further than him, I think. Speaking of which, do you still have that data we got back in shop class?"

"No. I got frisked before gearing up, nothing extra."

Shepard swung his fist impotently. "If we had it, maybe we could get an advantage…"

A sleepy voice spoke up; "If it will get you two off the com channel, I grabbed the chip before we left."

The two men swiveled to look at the prone Arvid. "How did you manage that?" Karl asked.

Arvid slapped one of his pouches groggily, "Easy. I swapped it for one of my backup repair chips."

Shepard took the proffered piece of technology and slipped it into his own pouch. "Thanks Arv. I'll get to work on it at our next stop."

Karl was already standing back from the entrance, using his helmet filters to scan the area outside. The sun was setting, which was good, and bad. The N5s would have an easier time finding their infrared profile, but there were a lot more large animals active at night. As he drifted off quickly, he let himself think back to Mindoir. It was a ritual he'd gotten into since the early days of Basic, and the routine helped calm himself.

~o~O~o~

_26 Hours_

The sun had truly set long before; it was almost dawn now. The sky was tinted with the grey light of pre-dawn, clouds illuminated from behind the horizon. Shepard had an idea that the N5's chasing them were letting them run, letting them waste their energy, but he kept quiet about that. Maybe he was wrong, at any rate, the other two were well acquainted with the situation. They'd been trained alongside him for six months, and unlike him, Arvid had attended a military school. Russian, of course.

Birds were starting to call again, more than just the buzzing nighthawks and chirping robins they'd heard all night. As they jogged tiredly, Shepard realized that he could see without his helmets' filters. If he could….

"Should we stop for a rest?" He asked. "We've covered a lot of ground, and we don't want to meet up with any N5's while we're worn out."

Karl shook his head. "We need as much of a head start as possible. If the other recruits cover less ground than we do, the N5's will probably hunt them instead of us."

Arvid nodded agreement. "The best defense is to not be present when your enemy_ is_." He looked back along their trail.

Shepard refrained from evincing displeasure. He felt as if eyes were watching, waiting for a mistake. He checked his HUD, but nothing registered as a threat. "Fine, but if we're going to keep moving, I'll work on our backup plan."

The chip was passed to him, and he slid it into a slot in his omni-tool. It would have worked more efficiently if he were to insert it directly beneath the fabrication engine housed in the armor, but their continuous motion made it too difficult. Working as well as he could, he used his omni-tool to access the data. Most of the data were still there, despite being exposed to multiple encryption programs and random physical abrasion for several days.

Just as he was getting into a rhythm, he felt a tugging sensation on his right calf. A second later, his leg kicked out of control, and he toppled sideways. That loss of control almost slammed his helmet into the base of an oaks' trunk. As it was, he managed to roll with the fall, and managed to avoid wrapping himself around a boulder.

Arvid was already unlocking his assault rifle. Sparks flew off the boulder beside the trio as their assailant tracked Karl, who was diving off to one side.

Fueled by terror, Shepard elbow-crawled to another tree, this one looked like some kind of maple. Ricochets thumped into the wood near his head, superheated metal cooling with wisps curling past his helmet. The sound…coupled with the scent…stirred in his memory. Something about shots being fired and smoke billowing into the night sky…no. No. NO. He quickly shoved that memory back under the back portion of his mind for later analysis. He slowly unclred from the tight ball he'd been in, but he couldn't stop shaking.

He heard a strange ringing sound, slowly dying below the sound of angry, clattering spitting of Arvids' assault rifle. Dimly, he heard noise on his headset, Karl yelling something about covering fire. The two of them broke off and grabbed Shepard by upper arms and carried him farther down the hillside, feet dragging through the shrubbery. He hung his head in shame. Their first skirmish and all he'd done was hide.

~o~O~o~

_27 Hours_

They reached a new hiding place after slogging two miles onward. Instead of a cave, this hiding place was a dense copse, with fallen trees making a natural fort.

Karl pulled out the rabbits Shepard had caught on their last rest and prepared them. They wouldn't be able to cook over a fire just yet, but they would be able to bury the offal and put the meat in sealed bags.

Silence reigned over the quiet group. Shepard stared morosely at the scenery, not particularly moving.

Arvid finally broke the silence. "You wanna talk about it?"

Shepard shook his head.

Karl spoke up, "Shepard, you are one of the best shots the sergeants have ever seen. You tested out of every tactical scenario they could cook up. What happened?"

Minutes dragged past. Small insects hummed past any exposed skin; repellent drove them away. Some treated it like salad dressing, but most were repelled.

Just as Arvid was dropping off, Shepard muttered incomprehensibly. He said it again, this time in his usual baritone: "Mindoir."

Karl looked up. "Yeah, you said you were from there, a lot of folks come from that way these days."

Shepard gritted his teeth. "Those are newcomers. People profiting off the back-breaking labor my neighbors did for decades before these 'colonists', he almost spat out the word, "Came swanning in and reaping the rewards of those who were taken."

Arvid looked up. "Taken? By who?"

But Karl knew. "The batarian slaver raid, two-three years ago?"

Shepard nodded once. A tight, birdlike motion. "We had a decent sized colony. Maybe 4,000 or 5,000 people." He let out a breath. "we had less than fifty after the raid."

Someone started to ask a question, but Shepard didn't listen. "My parents and I were on the other side of town. They were planners. Thinkers. Hired by the agricultural board to plan for different scenarios. Nothing like what actually happened."

"We took down a lot of batarians when they came. Slavers. Herders. Medics. Whatever they were, we burned them down where they stood. We met up with a colonist, the head mechanic, he helped. It wasn't enough."

Shepard stared blankly past Karl. "I was in a vantage point, taking down batarians as fast as I could…I missed seeing the group headed for my parents. When I did see them, I couldn't get there in time…."

Arvid sighed. "Nothing you could have done, mate. I read about it, didn't place where it was until you started talking about it. That raid was planned well in advance, must have been watching your colony for months before the attack."

Karl quit cleaning and started packing the rabbit. "Yeah. Besides, you were what, sixteen? The fact that you got any batarians is to your credit."

Shepard snorted. "That's what the survivors said. The Alliance soldiers told 'em that I had killed over two dozen batarians, said I was a natural. The colonists gave me a shiny medal. Kept telling all the newcomers I was some kind of hotshot killing machine, that the safest place in the colony was behind me and my rifle."

A stick popped beyond their locale. All three instinctively turned to focus on the spot. An elk stood looking at them with wide eyes.

Chuckling, Shepard put his rifle down. "Anyway, that's why I froze up. Something made me think of that raid…and how nothing I did made a difference."

Arvid sneered playfully. "I'd say you made a significant amount of difference in the lives of two dozen batarians. They won't be going on any slave raids in this universe."

Shepard reluctantly had to agree. "That's true. I know that, and I know the survivors that made it think I made a difference." He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. "It'll just take time."

Karl hefted his shotgun. "Time, and sleep. Thank you for not saying 'I told you so,' but you were right. We've gotten over two-hundred miles under our belts, and we need sleep. Shepard, will you take first watch?"

Shepard knew this was not a slam on his capability; rather it was a gesture of trust. "Sure. I'll see what I can get done with the data chip too."

Grunts of acknowledgement met his ears. The other two almost hurled themselves at the ground, desperate for sleep. The fact that they'd kept themselves awake for him was…humbling.

~o~O~o~

_37 Hours_

The next time the N5's attacked, the trio was ready. Shepard had used the chip with the data mined from all the recruits in their classes and created a program that searched for known identification signals. Using that had allowed them to plot a rough estimate of where the other recruits were located, and the average rate they were traveling. One unexpected benefit was the capacity to get low-level transmissions from the N5s themselves, which served as a form of early warning system.

The squad had heard garbled transmissions and reacted with alacrity. At first, they ran flat out, getting as much distance as possible between themselves and their pursuers. Shepard kept an eye out as they traveled, leaping over obstacles and dodging trees.

"Here!" he shouted as they started passing a rocky slope. It was a perfect ambush site.

The other two didn't stop to ask questions. Both had agreed that when it came to strategic thinking, Shepard had both of them beat. Moving more slowly, they climbed the slope, discovering in the process that it had many loose stones.

"Careful," Karl warned. "We don't want to tip them off too early you know. Switch to hand signals only."

Arvid found a larger boulder still embedded in the hillside and crouched behind it. There was even a scrawny tree wedging the boulder in place for him to use. Below, Karl set up a series of improvised tech mines, manufactured by an overworked omni-tool.

The three had just enough time to settle when two men crashed through the old growth, assault rifles unlocked and held for action.

Shepard took just a moment to identify the targets. Both covered in camouflage and wore full armor, not the recruit version but expensive Alliance issue. Somehow, they realized something was up and before he had a chance to react they were diving for cover.

"Light 'em up!" Shepard bellowed.

The tech mines went off in a cloud of fragments and EMP pulses. One of the N5's yelped and stumbled back, rifle smoking.

Arvid coolly stitched his fire along the surprised mans' armor, shaking him off his feet with the strength of the impacts. As Captain Anderson had explained, any fire within a certain range of the N5's would not be lethal, but even powered down concussive rounds packed a wallop.

A shotgun roared below Shepard. Shepard kept his focus up, he was _not_ going to fail his team again.

Somehow, a faint movement in the background caught his attention. He eased his rifle up to use the scope…it looked like more people. A lot more people. Quickly, Shepard did a rough calculation judging the windspeed and distance, and fired. And fired again.

~o~O~o~

Karl released the last of his mine cluster and swiped the next available disruption from the ejection bay on his omni-tool. Above him he heard Shepards rifle thunder, aimed beyond his own line of sight; just as well. The N5 he was targeting was stubbornly staying behind cover, despite all he and Arvid could do. Alternative methods would be required.

"Tech mine!" he called over his com and tossed the device. Arvid was ready, sweeping his fire from the left while the Karl readied on the right.

The sparks put out by the tech burst fried the N5's shields enabling Karl to curve another freshly manufactured EMP mine over and directly onto the armor. The resultant explosion forced the man to roll out of cover, directly into combined fire.

A rustle of leaves alerted him to another incoming. He was about to lay another mine when Shepard called over the channel. "Hold fire, friendly inbound!"

So he held his fire watching. Mrs Verner bounded through into sight. She wore full armor, but Karl could tell it was her. She had a unique running pattern, like she was trying to avoid too much contact with the ground. The drill sergeant hadn't been able to train it out of her; Karl had been surprised that she had been able to continue Basic. Whatever the reason, she was present and bearing down on his cover.

Karl yelped and rolled…out of cover. He felt concussive rounds impact his shields, and kept rolling. The shots followed; he broke their line of sight by getting behind some brush, but that lasted only for seconds, not enough for his shields to regen.

Arvid above saw his predicament and overcharged his assault rifle. Shots poured out at an increased rate, almost at a shuttle-mounted minigun level. Brush was mown down, revealing forms to Shepards' deadly fire from above.

Getting desperate now, Karl tossed the remainder of his expendable munitions. When that didn't work, he knew he wasn't going to succeed.

Strangely, that information felt liberating, and everything curiously slowed. He could see the entire battlefield clearly, and knew exactly what to do.

Karl shifted his shotgun to his off-hand, and drew his pistol. He'd made the most of his allotted "credits," and "purchased" a top-of-the-line omni-tool, a Savant VIII. That came off, and wrapped around his pistol. His spare weapon care kit and supplies were also attached to the pistol.

He found minimal cover behind a small hummock and tagged his com. "Initiating Light Brigade maneuver, repeat Light Brigade."

Arvids voice immediately followed, "Understood, that's a Light Brigade oh-two, Light Brigade oh-two."

Shepard knew what that meant. Arvid believed himself to be compromised, and would be joining Karl in a last charge into enemy fire, buying time. "Stay down!" he called back. His hands moved without thinking. Decades of practice, honed by solid months of hardened military training kept the rifle moving and firing.

"We can take them, stay down!"

Karl chuckled over the com. "I'm out of expendables, don't have the height to get clear. Got a horse ready for you when you're ready."

From where he was, he saw Shepard become very still. Mrs Verner clambered past him, not even bothering to return fire. "Understood…." The next sentence was uttered slowly, painfully. "Light Brigade…acknowledged…send the horse."

Karl hurled the misshapen ball low and fast, hard to hit. It was fielded by Arvid, who quickly added some gear, then launched higher to Shepard. It was heavier the second time, but closer.

Karl saw Shepard catch the bundle and touched his right ear. "Horse has reached the barn. Light Brigade is open."

An unearthly howl erupted from Karls left. Shepard almost looked like he was going to poke out of cover, but caught himself in time.

Arvid burst out of cover, assault rifle leveled and spitting fury. In response, Karl rose from the ground like an avenging berserker. His shotgun was overloaded, launching concussive rounds at lethal velocities, carnage incarnate.

~o~O~o~

Shepard watched his two friends charge certain doom. Then he pulled the bundle they'd given him and turned his back on their sacrifice. What they were doing would be meaningless if he just sat around watching.

Behind him he could hear more guns opening up. Sharper sounding cracks mixed into the pounding roar that was Arvids' assault. Pistols; the N5's must have grouped up, and been closer than he'd thought.

Ahead was the crest of the hillock. He kept himself low, rolling to one side just before crossing it. Good thing, a long shot ricocheted off a rock he would have crossed.

Safe on the other side, Shepard picked up the pace. He soon passed Mrs Verner. She quickened her pace, keeping up with him. He snarled internally; she must have led that larger group to his squad. He did _not_ feel kindly towards her at all.

~o~O~o~

_62 Hours_

Shepard jogged easily. The terrain was rough, mountainous, but he'd finally hacked the onboard computer of the last N5 to try bringing him down, and obtained her map. Deer snares were apparently well within the N5 repertoire, but her unforeseen surprise had been Mrs Verner with a thick tree branch. Alliance helmets were designed to mitigate most small arms fire, but nothing about a four-inch thick piece of live oak was _small_.

He checked the map again. Corporal Nehru had possessed a master copy of the training omni-tools. As Shepard and Karl had hoped, the N5s were using omni-tools from the Alliance training camp. That allowed him to compromise not only the maps, but the comm frequencies and encryptions.

Shepard heard a double tap on the com; that must be an N5 notifying someone that his target was located. Very few targets were left on the playing field by now, of the original dozen, only three were still in action. He knew where two were, but the third was off the radar, a Mr Leng.

The trees slanted backwards, as he was traveling mostly downhill now. The spine of the mountain range was behind him, and Mrs Verner he had t grudgingly admit. Her lack of remorse bothered him a bit, but he refused to look back at her. Nothing would stop his efforts.

Another double click hit the com, and he froze behind a bush. Mrs Verner blundered past him, missing the hand signal he'd given.

Shepard switched to Swedish, under his breath fluently describing the various activities he wished his incompetent comrade would undertake. As he did so, he grabbed a pinecone and underhanded it into the back of her retreating helmet.

Mrs Verner reacted, whipping out her pistol and snapping multiple shots at Shepard. Shepard tiredly fell back, letting the concussive rounds push him back into the leaves.

Seconds later, he heard multiple clicks on the N5 channel. Instantly lethargy left him and he lunged up and started running again. With one arm he slammed Mrs Verners' shoulder around pointing her in the right direction.

"Hey! Wha' are you-"

Shepard switched on his external speaker. "Saving your score, idiot. You just sent up a signal for anyone within five miles."

They kept running.

~o~O~o~

_86 Hours_

Lieutenant Zapleta observed Shepard from his shuttle. The shuttle was hovering over two miles up and forty miles south, but the sensors were able to pick out the suit-mounted sensors easily.

Zapleta smiled slightly. He had to hand it to the boy, he had talent. Of course he'd known that since Mindoir...

Dark thoughts swirled in his mind, the casualties, the frustration evident on all the soldiers faces. Shepard had been the only thing that kept many of them sane. All by himself, the young man had successfully defended his family for hours against an entire invading horde, with nothing more than a sports rifle and his own determination. That young man had inspired the rest of the soldiers, carried them out of their despair at losing so many.

And now, Shepard was being tested by the best, wielding only the most basic of gear against specialists that had been rated in the upper levels of the best humanity had to offer. And was _winning._ Never in the history of the Alliance military program had a recruit gotten so far.

Lieutenant Zapleta turned to his fellow passenger, an unnamed captain. "I told you, he is one of the best I've ever seen. He's a natural at improvisation, better than most N3s."

The captain stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder what he could do, trained up a bit." He rumbled.

Zapleta smiled inwardly. Focusing on the colonist survivor had granted him purpose, helped him ignore the terrible scenes from that unmentionable day. He just hoped he could help Shepard as much as the boy had unknowingly aided himself.

~o~O~o~

_96 Hours_

Shepard woke up, a slight noise had alerted him. Mrs Verner had fallen asleep…_again_…and something was outside. Rather, some_one_. The moonlight outside cast shadows, and unless trees commonly had bipedal trunks, a person was leaning next to the entrance.

Silently, Shepard elbow-crawled nearer. From what he could see, the figure was being very still. That in and of itself was not suspicious; however, the armor looked as though it belonged to a recruit, not an N5. N5 armor was a tad more bulky, thicker and angled more slightly. This armor had the recruit grade thickness without the same bulk.

"Leng?" Shepard whispered.

The figure jerked, putting one finger towards the head. A second later, the figure flattened itself and rolled under the cover Shepard was using.

"Shepard, that you?"

Shepard snorted. "No, it's the Easter bunny. Sorry I forgot my extra set of ears."

Soft chuckling came from the prone figure. "All right?"

Shepard sighed. "I'm alive, and still moving. Three days left, hey?"

Leng nodded silently. "I've been traveling at night. Figure they have the advantage, but I can spend more time waiting than they can.

"Hmmm, since they're hunting you, the N5s could just stake out a spot and wait for a week."

"Not if they want to catch everybody."

"True."

"Is it true what happened?"

Shepard sighed. "Yeah, they got Karl and Arvid."

"No, I mean what they did? Took out almost a dozen N5s to clear your way?"

Shepard looked up. "There were only a dozen to start with, if we're still being chased, how could they have taken out a full doen?"

Leng pondered that point. "They don't follow our rules. We are done if shot once, they can come back in if they're shot."

Sarcasm filled Shepards response "Great."

Leng looked over at Mrs Verner. "You can come with me, you know. I watched her during training, she's hopeless. You and I are the best."

"You mean, leave her and take off?"

Seriously, Leng stared Shepard in the eye. "Between your sniping and my stealth, we could dominate what's left of the N5's."

Shepard cautiously parsed what Leng had said. "What do you mean, 'dominate?'"

Now impatience filled Lengs' voice. "Exactly what it sounded like. I took down an N5 with a leg twist, damaged the Achilles. There's no way he'll be coming back into the field which improves our odds, and there's no way I'd go onto a battlefield without an advantage. With your skill, you can keep their heads down while I go in and do some damage."

"But these are N5's, they're on our side." Shepard pointed out.

"Really? Could've fooled me. Last I saw, these guys are trying to take me down any way possible, and not following the same rules I have to in order to do it. I'm staying alive, not kowtowing to a misguided sense of responsibility."

Shepard had to think for a moment, but he knew his answer. "I'm not exactly going to follow the rules, but any rules I break will be for minimal harm. Plus, I can't leave my colleague. She'd go down for sure."

Neither man noticed the "sleeping" figure twitch slightly.

Kai Lengs' gaze grew cold. "So be it, I'm going on. You are going to regret your decision, though."

He moved back, barely detectable in the darkness and scuttled sideways out of sight.

Shepard waited for a count of five minutes, then shook Mrs Verners shoulder. "We have to go."

She jerked, "Huh? What?"

Shepard lied shamelessly. "I hear some chatter, we're going to get some visitors soon."

"It's all right Shepard. I heard what went on."

Shepard froze. "What?"

"I heard you turn down Kai Leng in order to stay with me. I may not like you Shepard, but…thanks."

"Thank me when we get home free."

~o~O~o~

**110 Hours**

Shepard and Verner scrambled over yet another ridge. The sky loomed heavy and dark, even though it was barely three in the afternoon.

"They're gonna get us, they're gonna get us!" babbled Verner.

Shepard wished he had a volume control for individual allied frequencies. "Not yet they're not."

"It's going to rain, it's thundering, which means lightning is coming, and I don't know about you but this armor isn't rated for direct lightning strikes. You could power New York City for two months with a regular lightning strike, not to mention one of those BIG ones from the top of the—"

"We're going to be fine!" Shepard shouted, losing his patience. "Now shut up and get the hell down this mountain!"

The two moved in near silence after that. Thunder was indeed rolling overhead, and the wind was picking up. But the end of the mountains was within sight, Shepard could see a wide plains ahead, far wider than any valley, and wanted to get on the level by the time the storm hit.

The next time she spoke they were just reaching the level ground, and the subject was..odd. "Shepard, have you considered getting married?"

Shepard exhaled sharply through his nose. "No."

"Why not?"

"The idea of being pinned down has never appealed to me. I need elbow room to be at my best."

Verner smirked. "That's what Conrad said."

Shepard turned an exasperated gaze upon her. "Look, if some day, some how, I meet a woman who not only _can _keep up with me, but would actually _want_ to keep up with me without either of us slowing the other down, I'd think about it. Until then, I will get married when the grass grows red, the sun goes out, and the oceans turn to yogurt."

Verner thought for a second. "Not in this lifetime then?"

"Pretty much."

The combination of strange subject matter and thunder was why he nearly missed the report of a sniper rifle. Since sound was moving more slowly than a supersonic pellet, only a stumble put Verners' head out of the way. Sparks flew from where she had been leaning, making soft clicking noises against her armor.

"How do they keep _finding_ us?" she shouted angrily.

Shepard kept his body moving, but felt his mind suddenly race. Several memories clicked into place.

"_These soldiers are N5' have very graciously offered their time and talents to ensure you have something to keep you going."_

"_They don't follow our rules…they can come back if they're shot."_

"…_there's no way I'd go onto a battlefield without an advantage."_

"Verner, have you checked your gear recently?"

"Of course!"

"_How_ recently? Within the last 14 hours?"

"Of course not! We've been running ever since you woke me up last night!"

Shepard employed more Swedish under his breath. It really was a descriptive language. He wasn't aware of it, but his normally warm baritone sank to a frozen bass. "_Kai Leng."_

"What?"

"Just, never mind. We'll get to a safe point and…."

Five N5 soldiers rose out of the terrain some distance ahead.

Shepard instantly dropped and rolled aside, knocking Verner off her feet again.

"Change of plan, make for that group of trees, now!"

~o~O~o~

**111 Hours**

Shepard was braced against an oak tree. He was aware of the irony, protecting himself from lightning by using a tree thought to be sacred to Zeus by the ancient Greeks. What further stretched the irony was the fact he was field-stripping his assault rifle, a cheap model to be sure, but filled with super-conducting wire. Karls' pistol was being dismantled by a feverish Verner, while both of them traded shots with the N5's gathering outside their cover.

"You sure this will work?" Verner asked for the tenth time.

Shepard decided to wax rhetorical. "To what is lightning attracted?

She responded slowly. "Um, trees. Like the ones we're sitting under…."

"Wrong. Lightning occurs when the presence of electrons build to a great enough intensity so that energy can be connected. Clouds are positive, ground is negative. Build up enough of a charge, and a spark is able to ionize a portion of the atmosphere."

"And what does _that_ fascinating fact have to do with our being trapped by superior firepower?"

Shepard turned a feral grin on his compatriot. "What else does a rifle do, but send charged particles into the air? And if we add the wires from a pistol so the rifle is better grounded…."

Mrs Verner kept a stoic visage, ducking a little as another series of rounds went off.

Shepard sighed. "The rifle makes a channel from the ground to the cloud, sparking lightning."

"Oh." She said. "Why not use the overload function on the omni-tools? That works the same way."

Shepard didn't bother looking at her as he carefully placed the wire. "Because you have to be attached to the omni-tool in order to activate that function, and I prefer to avoid being fried on Wednesdays."

~o~O~o~

**112 Hours**

It was a successful ambush, Shepard had to admit. On both parts.

He and Mrs Verner had departed the copse with considerable alacrity. The N5's had charged into and through the trees almost as quickly. Unfortunately for them, Arvids omni-tool had a motion detector function, and was connected to the sky-facing assault rifle. The experiment worked as Shepard had envisioned, with a bolt of pure electricity falling from the sky. The wires from Karls' pistol worked twice, in this case. Once as a sink for the energy exchange, and again as a guide for the return stroke of electricity.

N5 armor was among the best in the galaxy, but even the best in shielding tech was not enough for infantry grade armor. The men lived without difficulty, but their tech attachments were crisped to a turn.

Unfortunately for Shepard, the N5's had figured on their bolting. They had been waiting behind the copse, and grabbed Shepard first. He struggled, using his weight to advantage with the smaller men, but was bulled down by a fairly upset N5 with a scorch mark on her pauldron.

Behind him, Shepard could see Mrs Verner running like a scared rabbit, two N5s close behind her. He tried, but couldn't manage to send a message; the N5's pulled off his helmet with extreme prejudice.

He couldn't help it. He grinned up at them. "Okay, you got me. Ready for round two?"

The scorched pauldron N5 slapped his bare face with her gauntlet. Her filtered voice was buzzing through the speaker, "You busted my friends' leg, did you think you could get away with that?"

Shepard narrowed his eyes. "Check my omni-tools GPS. You'll find I was never near that officer."

She slapped his face again, from the other direction this time. "Don't lie to me, I got the ID on that recruit, and I've been following him since day before yesterday."

Shepard looked at the silent group of N5's around him. None looked willing to intervene. "Where's Kai Leng?"

Scorched reared back. "What?"

Shepard nodded at the others. "You heard me, where is he? If you have my signature, where is his? I know he was free not too long ago, but why haven't you gotten him yet?"

"Liar." Scorched let fly again.

"EVERYONE STAND DOWN!" boomed an unknown voice.

Shepard turned to see another N5…no, an N7 walking in his direction, led…at gunpoint… by Mrs Verner.

The N5's saluted, so Shepard did likewise. When in Rome….

The N7 returned the salutes with precision. "Operative Keller, N7 Marine Corps. I am declaring this exercise finished."

Shepard drooped as the N5s began departure preparations. He'd tried his best, but he'd finished with over two days left.

~o~O~o~

**Returning to Base**

The shuttle ride back was quiet. The N5's and the N7 had their helmets on. Their body posture indicated disagreement, and an occasional gesture showed some kind of conversation was going on under the silence of their armor.

Mrs Verner was uncharacteristically quiet. Previously, the only way to make her be silent was to either make her so mad she couldn't speak for rage, or let her believe she won and maintain a smug silence. This was different…more of a contemplative silence. Hopefully it wasn't anything too serious.

The silence continued for the duration of the trip. Wind shoving around the craft made it buck once in a while, but overall it was a smooth ride. From the body language Shepard was observing, the N7 was arguing with the N5s, pointing occasionally to Shepard, and then at the floor of the shuttle.

When the shuttle landed, Shepard could hear a dull roar through the metal. He looked up at the N7. The soldiers' helmet blocked all hints from being seen, but Shepard could see a dull glow reflecting off the eyes. The N7 tapped the door to open it, and motioned Shepard to precede him.

There was a hushed crowd waiting outside the shuttle. Shepard hopped down the step, head held high. After his failure was announced, he was determined to find Kai Leng, and beat him within an inch of his life.

The N7 stepped out and paused, flanked by the N5s. Something clicked, and the public address function indicator lit up on the helmet.

"I wanted to thank all of you for trying out for this award. Many of you showed promise, and many of you proved it this week."

Shepard found Arvid, Karl and the other members of the Maw squad waiting for him and took his place at their side. Arvid winked at him while Karl gave him a silent thumbs up.

"Not all of you were able to take the strain of this test, and some of you were able to fully recognize your limitations. Most of you that were able to recognize this will have a reduced training schedule; around a week of extra training if my sources are correct."

Cheers split the air as the recruits who hadn't gotten very far pumped the air. Shepard saw Arvid tense.

The N7 waved for quiet. "I would also like to congratulate two outstanding recruits. These two made it farther than any other in the history of the Alliance. They showed resourcefulness, cunning and courage. Exactly the traits looked for in Alliance Officers. Shepard and Leng, please step forward!"

He stumbled out, almost brought down by the applause and backslapping.

"You did it Shepard!" Arvid was apparently under the impression that Shepard was in danger of deafness; he was bellowing so loudly.

Shepard winced a little, only to be pounded on his other side by Karl. Karl was yelling something as well, but in a language he didn't understand.

Shepard managed to stand a little farther out, and met Kai Lengs gaze. Leng had a smirking look in his eyes; Shepard returned the look with a perfect smile and steady gaze. He deliberately looked over at Scorched armor, then back to Kai Leng, facial expression not changing one iota. Kai Lengs' expression twitched slightly.

The N7 stepped between the two and raised their arms like prizefighters. "These two will have their names entered in the records as an inspiration to future soldiers."

He lowered their hands and beckoned to more of the recruits. "Karl Valdez, Arvid Tchiesvel, Kassie Oppenheimer, Eloise Verner and Dmitri Kaiser, step forward."

They stepped forwards; Karl shot Shepard a proud look.

The N7 raised his hands as if in a benediction. "All of you went above and beyond the call of duty, whether it was to sacrifice yourselves that others could escape, " he indicated Karl and Arvid, "Or shared your supplies so more could survive. Other traits were determined, tested and forged in this, and you were chosen because of them. You have passed, and shall gain the honors promised."

"But now, it's been a long week, and everyone is exhausted. Get some rack time and square away your gear. Expect to hear from someone within the week. DISMISSED!"

~o~O~o~

Karl and Arvid helped Shepard get to the armory. He needed the assistance, his muscles felt like rigid bowls of chowder.

"How did you two do?" Shepard asked. There was a muddy patch on his plastron he was trying to wipe off.

Karl shrugged. "Arvid and I managed to get a few of them, not as many as we'd hoped, but a few."

Arvid rubbed a cleaning cloth over the contacts inside one of the greaves. "Is it true what they said? You managed to call down lightning on your foes?"

Snorting with laughter, Shepard shook his head. "It was more like I sent a coordinate and hoped it was right."

"Still, it was impressive. I heard Kai Leng got caught trying to steal a concussed N5s' armor. Boy was he surprised."

Shepard was intrigued. "How so?"

Arvid grinned. "Leng forgot to check for booby traps, almost got his hands fried. By the time he managed to shake off the electro-gel, the other N5s caught him."

Shepard shook his head. "That guy is bad news. He's the one that got Mrs Verner and I caught."

He looked up at their shocked expressions. "Seriously. I found a relay for his tracking signal stuck to my boot." He held out the piece of gear, "He must have put an adhesive on the relay, then guided me into stepping on it."

Arvid offered up a rich curse in Cyrillic. "May he be devoured by little teeth. Why didn't you turn him in?"

Shepard shrugged. "It was a valid tactic, a way to make him practically invisible. Besides, all he'd have to do is claim I offered to help him, and then it would be his word against mine."

His expression darkened, like a thunderhead rising. "But I'm going to be watching him in the future. Any funny business, and he's going to get my boot up his—"

"Shepard?" a new voice, softer, more feminine came into their awareness.

Shepard turned, "Mrs Verner. I didn't expect to see you."

She shrugged half-heartedly. "I suppose not…I'm not exactly the best at this kind of thing…."

Karl and Arvid kept their faces as stoic as the Sphinx.

Mrs Verner took a deep breath. "I'm….um…..boy this is awkward….I…"

Shepard took pity on her. "No worries, we'll do better next time."

Mrs Verner looked close to tears. "No, that's just it! I'm not going to do better!"

Shepard took a step back. Mrs Verner took another step closer, brown eyes flashing. "You…you are so _good_ at this! It's like you're not even trying! You take all the extra courses-"

Shepard tried to interrupt "Actually, it's remedial-"

"Don't give me that! All those courses you took were extra, unnecessary! And you got top marks in all of them! I had to give everything I had just to pass the minimum requirements!"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And even when you had me pulling you back, you still made it to the top the final scoreboard."

Shepard gaped. 'What are you talking about?"

Arvid was checking his omnitool. "She's right Shepard. You've made the top score of the class overall. Even got an honorary Rifleman award."

Karl whooped and knocked Shepard over with an overly enthusiastic backslap. "Way to go! Suma cum laude! Or…er…Valedectorian? Whatever! Congrats man!"

Mrs Verner had unusually bright eyes, "You didn't know?" she asked.

Shepard looked at her for a long moment. Then he sighed and sat down. "No." he said simply. "I didn't."

Karl looked up from the last piece of armor. "Wait, you mean you didn't actually volunteer for Edible Plant Life 104?"

Shepard shook his head.

"Or Vehicle Repairs?"

Another headshake.

"Wilderness cooking?"

Shepard glared. "There is no such class."

Karl tilted his head more appraisingly. "Maybe not, but if there were, I'd bet you would have taken it."

Mrs Verner hung her head. "It's just as well. I figured you were doing it on purpose. Now that I know you didn't…it makes it easier for me."

Shepard let her words work their way into his subconscious. "What do you-" he started to ask.

"I'm quitting." She interjected.

Shepard just stared.

She nodded insistently. "I got a job offer a few weeks ago, working as an artist at a replica company. I will never be that good at soldiering, so I may as well get paid for what I can do well."

Karl and Arvid moved back a bit and joined Shepard in staring.

"After all this work, after all you've pushed yourself to do…why?" Shepard asked. "You just spent over six months going through the worst the Alliance could dish out!"

Mrs Verner shook her head. "Always so naïve. This isn't the worst. That comes later. I barely passed here, I'd never pass the tougher tests."

Crickets played gently in the background. In other rooms recruits, now soldiers, were gathering their equipment and packing it away. Farther out the rumbling sound of heavy vehicles underlined the grim purpose of their training. It was for war, not just personal fitness.

Shepard nodded once. "Very well Mrs Verner. You should know yourself best. Give my regards to Mr Verner, would you?"

She smiled lightly. "Surely. He already thinks you're some kind of hotshot, so it will make his day."

Shepard laughed. "I'm hardly that, but I appreciate the vote of confidence."

The two parted with a handshake. Which was more than Shepard had expected at the beginning of the training.

The end of the day came rolling around. All his armor was carefully cleaned and put away. The weapons were stripped and replaced in their hangings.

Shepard himself was re-reading a letter on his omni-tool when Karl caught up with him.

"Hey Shepard," Karl called out. "I just found out about a new HUD display that makes an observer redundant for sniping! Isn't that wild? Now you can go chargin' off solo while I get to stay home and watch the Food Network…what'cha got there?"

Shepard didn't look up. "It's an invitation to enter training with the N7 program."

Karl sat down quickly. He missed the rock. "Oof."

Shepards eyebrows were furrowed. "I'd thought about entering, but never expected to get an invite so early. What do you think?"

Karl was sprawled out on his back. "Honestly? Go for it. You nailed the basic final, and that was with deadweight. What do you think you could do with the best in the Alliance teaching you?"

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

"Good point. I'll think about it.: Shepard muttered. "It definitely couldn't hurt."


	5. Requested Data

To: Udina

Subject: References

Ambassador Udina,

As per your request, I have performed an examination on the credentials for one Commander Shepard. The suggestion that the record had been flawed was indeed accurate; there are several commendations that are not available to the general public, and some information that was listed as missing until I invoked your authority.

The most pertinent, however, is the permission request form sent in order to gain an early promotion for Commander Shepard. A portion of the interest is the response from the Admiralty. I have included the letters as an attachment. Please note that some names were withheld, even from this level of security.

J.L. Sampson

Vice-President of Internal Affairs,

Alliance Intelligence

* * *

To Whomever It May Concern,

Greetings,

We the undersigned request that the eighteen month waiting period for the rank of LTJG be waived for Ensign John Shepard.

Ensign Shepard has displayed exemplary behavior both on and off the training course, and had shown an aptitude for leadership. We understand that the waiting period is usually for the education of the officer in question, but feel that the record and history of Ensign Shepard is more than adequate to the challenge.

Ensign Shepard has passed Basic Training with top marks in all of his courses, including all of the requisite courses necessary to enter Officer Training School. This was in addition to the standard courses required for Basic Training.

Ensign Shepard has also passed the Advanced Final with top grades. His performance in the Final test was comparable to an N7 candidate, without any of the training. Several N7 graduates have agreed to serve as witnesses that the capabilities of Ensign Shepard are equal to an N3 trainee, despite his not having any of the training.

In short, Ensign Shepard has proven his capacity to learn, to lead and to adapt in difficult situations. This is the best possible reason for reducing the usual time requirement, as it would add the rank more appropriate to his skill level and natural abilities.

Respectfully,

Sergeant Petros,

Sergeant O'Mallery,

-Redacted-

Lieutenant Davis,

Dr. Gustavia

Corporal Tambers,

Captain Jacobsen,

-Redacted—

Lieutenant Commander Sean,

Dr. Kissimmee Laraby

Lieutenant Zapleta, eyewitness on Mindoir

* * *

Ladies and Gentlemen,

In regard to your request in order to eliminate the waiting period for Ensign Shepards' promotion, we do not feel that we are able to accommodate such a request. No matter how gifted an individual may be, there is always much more to be learned, and only experience can teach some things.

However, in light of the capabilities shown by Ensign Shepard on Mindoir, and especially because of his performance in the Advanced test, there may be a compromise. Instead of eliminating the requirement, we have agreed to reduce the waiting period to a six month probationary period. If Ensign Shepard still merits a higher position after the allotted time has passed, we will grant your request.

We thank all of you for your loyal service, and earnestly hope this compromise satisfies all concerned parties.

Steven Hacket

Senior Rear-Admiral

Alliance Navy

* * *

_Now I don't know much about military ranks, so I did some research. Hope this works out all right. I wanted to put in a bridge between the basic training days and the N7 program, which is coming up next._

_Also, please let me know how to improve my writing. I'm using the English language as I know how, and could use some storytelling experience._

_Thanks!_


	6. N7 Training

_Authors Note: Hello again! I apologize for the length of time before this was ready for posting; I wanted to get it right, and circumstances have gotten fairly intense lately. On the plus side I am now a lab assistant. On the minus side, I have to work on campus over summer; it's a good/bad situation._

_I put up a poll, should I write an Akuze mission? I believe I have one more N7 chapter left, then Elysium (if all goes according to my schedule)._

_ I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this fanfic, and would like to express my appreciation to those of you whom have commented, voted and subscribed. It is a pleasure to share this world with such comrades =D_

**The Beginning**

Flames reached skyward. Screams echoed from beyond the kiln-like heat. Coarse laughter combined with the pleas of the desperate, creating an unholy sound as if the demons from hell were rising.

Shepard glared right, rifle raised. The damned flew at him out of the inferno, screaming with glowing eyes, claws outstretched to seize him.

Shepard fired, the gun in his hands spouting flame back at the oncoming horde, cutting them down by the dozens. More filled the ranks, these looking smaller, but harder and wielding weapons of their own. Shepard moved as fast as he could even as the mud pulled at his feet as if it wished for him to fail. He reached a berm and leveled his rifle across the top of the earth, bringing its fire in a deadly arc.

An impossibly bright explosion erupted from the berm, throwing Shepard backwards into silence. Everything went black.

Even after blinking furiously, everything was dark, except for a neon green digital readout just past his right elbow, reading 06:04:34.

_Another dream, nightmare rather, at least this one had the decency to attain Inferno imagery._ Shepard thought. _At this rate, I'll have joined Dante on all seven circles by the time I'm thirty._

A strange vibration shook the clock. Shepard realized after a few seconds of squinting that it was his own hand…he was shaking slightly. Six months of boot camp, nearly two years of advanced officer training, over a dozen firefights and he _still_ wasn't getting over one lousy night.

Since Arvid and Karl had left on their own assignments, there was only one cure left, even if it was just temporary. Shepard got up without turning on the lights and picked his way across the room from memory, a skill that he'd used that night a long time ago, and which had come in useful a time or two since then. He could feel his hands calming down as he unlocked a drawer. Inside was the familiar oblong case that had been shipped from Mindoir, the violin the Larsons had gifted to him.

The wood felt cool and smooth, yet somehow alive, as though some magic allowed him to feel the instruments' history. How many people had set bow to this instrument? What were the stories behind their songs?

Music flowed from the strings, soothing in tone. The vibrations transmitting to Shepards' jaw felt relaxing, letting the tension waft away on the notes.

As he played, Shepard started considering his options. The psychologist had declared him fit for duty, even after Shepard had explained the nightmares. The psychologist had deemed them natural, a result from trauma but would decrease as time progressed. Personally, Shepard had an idea that one of his superiors had leaned on the psychologist, playing for time until his head was on straight.

_Head on straight…_a chain of thought started up…_head games…challenges for the mind…what about challenging the mind and body?...N7 invitation…._

The music grew louder as Shepard thought. He absently moved from a depressing Beethovan nocturne into a livelier cadenza by Nielson. The N7 program had the best of both worlds; the possibilities for failure would still be present, and he could determine whether he was fit for duty without putting any stress on his superiors.

Coming to a decision, Shepard shifted his posture. He'd make the application that very day, since he already had the invitation. What was the worst that could happen?

~o~O~o~

"You want to _what?"_

Shepard winced internally. _This is going well_. Aloud, he only stated what he had already said. "I wish to apply for N7 training, sir."

The Colonel stared at him. He was more of a middle-aged sort of individual, who strenuously denied the slightest hint of age creeping up. That is, he denied his age until someone much younger attempted to perform some task he was unable to perform at a similar age.

"No. Out of the question." The graying man put on an ingratiating smile. "You're good Shepard, but you're not _that_ good. You're young, you have years ahead of you to take up training."

Shepard leaned back and folded his arms. It was a breach in protocol, but he had an ace up his sleeve. "Sir, I firmly believe that I would be accepted to the N7 program. I believe I have a great deal of potential, and sufficient training to date to make such an attempt feasible."

The Colonel paused to think possible comeback strategies. The young man in front of him was indeed well recommended. He even looked the part of a classic elite operative, dark blonde hair, a well filled out frame and a height advantage. He also had an air of self-confidence, very much unlike the other recruits…generally they used arrogance, thinking it was the same thing.

Shepard took advantage of the officers' silence and produced his trump. "Actually sir, I have an invitation. I want to accept it and take some time off to utilize it, sir."

The Colonel sat for a moment. Then his face seemed to shift slightly, mechanisms beneath trying to remember how to smile. "Ah…I see. May I take a look at your invitation?"

The invitation was indeed printed by the authentic Interplanetary Combatives Academy. The proper security code were woven into the fibers, and there was no evidence for tampering. The words were easily ready, but the point was that the date had been written almost _two years ago_. There was no doubt to its officialness.

The colonel had to ask. "You've been sitting on this for a while, Lieutenant Commander. Why bring it up now?"

Shepard smiled easily. "I do things when I'm good and ready, sir. And I'm ready for this now."

The two stared each other. After a few moments, the officer glumly signed a waiver. "Don't say I didn't warn you son. This ain't no picnic."

Shepard grinned. "I'm counting on it."

~o~O~o~

Life had been good to Shepard, relatively speaking. Sure, there had been times when he was in fear of his life, required to accomplish large quantities of mayhem and destruction and the occasional formal dinner. But, there were downsides as well. Promotions, for example. He'd been made an Ensign right out of OTS, as per normal, but had been also been promoted to the rank of lieutenant six months later. This was not what he'd been expecting; normally a second promotion took eighteen months at the earliest. The reasoning he'd been given had something to do with how he'd passed the final exam back in Basic, but was wrapped up in too much jargon for a dumb grunts full comprehension.

Unfortunately, the bad news didn't stop there. His promotion had been accompanied by a required assignment for several months on the Arcturus Station, operating with a personal guard detachment. A minor scuffle (for him, anyway) with a Terra Firma extremist party member had resulted in a gratified committee, and a commendation that lead to another promotion to being a full Lieutenant. After that he'd been assigned to a rotating Special Response Team. Somehow, he'd only had enough time to settle in before multiple emergencies required his team to be called up, generally violent that required his increasingly respected skills.

Karl and Arvid had risen in the ranks as well, albeit not as quickly as Shepard. They'd gone for N7 training immediately, and were currently rated as N3's. They'd kept in touch, but since he was no longer an equal in certain respects, they had less to talk about. Especially now that Karl and Arvid were in the N7 corps; some of their latest missions were off the official records.

Now, it was Shepards turn.

~o~O~o~

Vila Militar, "the Villa," was home of the Interplanetary Combatives Academy; located in the lush area of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The program had its origins in the early days of the Alliance, founded by an unnamed general as a back ops training regimen, and expanded by the Alliance to an official capacity.

Many arguments had been made to change the location of the center, but inertia had kept the program alive and growing. The longer it stayed, the deeper it entrenched itself until it had grown to a literal school for the elite. Acres of buildings were devoted to nothing but physical education; wide swaths of rainforest were dedicated to survival practice.

When Shepard stepped off the shuttle, he only noticed the intense humidity and heat. He didn't like humidity, it sapped motivation and tired him out far more than colder climates did, or especially the temperature controlled spaceships or armor suits. _Maybe that's why they put it _here, he thought. _Does that mean they'll be testing us without suits? Or maybe…_

Before he reached a satisfactory conclusion, he'd reached the tall pillared doorway. A veranda swept the length of the front, more in a ranch style than a military location. White pillars, Ionian in appearance, stood a dozen feet apart along the edge of the board floor. Picturesque ivy sprawled along the brick walls outside the reach of the veranda, but Shepard could see the small indentations of surveillance instruments. Farther up, along the rooftop he could see decorative scrollwork on the walls. Strangely clean scrollwork…similar in size to the cupolas around military machine-nest emplacements.

Shepard smirked and gave a little wave to the obviously non-existent observers and entered through the tall doorway to the echoing marble lined hall beyond.

~o~O~o~

_One Day Later_

There had been very little paperwork involved. Shepards' name and registration was already on file, all he had to do was check in and find his bunkroom. After that, he was given a full medical evaluation, and one night to sleep.

After that…well, Basic and OTC were looking like a fond memory of ease and comfort.

_This wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind._ Shepard thought. He was stripped to the waist, running through underbrush. A heavy pack bumped on his shoulders, filled with all the life-giving supplies thirty kilograms of rock could need.

His wrist beeped at him, the omni-tool heralding the appearance of a holographic representative. Internally, Shepard groaned, at least in Basic the sergeants had the decency to yell at you in person.

"What's with the _la-di-da_ maneuvers Lieutenant?"

"Moving with alacrity, sir!" Shepard grunted out.

"Moving with alacrity, sir" the digitally recreated sergeant mimicked sarcastically. "What, they teach you to talk fancy up in OTC? WHAEL THIS AIN'T SPEECH CLASS! THIS IS N7 BOOT CAMP!"

Shepard took in a breath and tried to relax his legs while he could. Some things never changed.

"MOVE SOLDIER! MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!"

Shepard picked up the pace, inhaling as much oxygen as he could.

It wasn't as if Shepard was afraid of hard work. He'd worked hard all his life, first helping neighbors with the farmwork and then all the work expected of a soldier. Blast it, forget _expected, _he'd done more than anyone could _expect_ of him, far more. _What more can they want? _He wondered.

He shook his head and bulled onwards. Trails didn't run themselves.

~o~O~o~

_Two Days Later_

"PULL!" A hoarse tenor bellowed. Contrary to the expectations built by the entertainment industry, carrying voices didn't have to be deep to be heard. That's why women were hired so quickly for the switchboard operator positions back in the 20th century. Higher voices cut through static much more easily.

In response to the command, small clay targets launched into the air, shots were fired; all of the targets shattered and fell in a powder. More targets launched, flinging themselves in random directions. More shots cracked out, the sharp crack of pistols echoed by the thunder of shotguns. Scattered throughout the small arms fire was the deep booming report of a sniper rifle.

Shepard tracked the red dots on his HUD. Karl had been right when he'd pointed out the advantages of the upgrades. The HUD showed all objects moving beyond a certain speed, or consisting of alloys within a certain range. The majority of Earth's population had more metal in their bodies than most asteroids, so the computer had to match the sample data to an adaptive matrix. That matrix had a limited library of all known alloy mixtures, but more importantly was able to use an onboard analysis package to project the probable density of unknown compositions. Since people didn't try killing each other with cheese, objects of such consistency were not tracked. Someone else with, say, half a gram of depleted uranium, or a sixth of a gram of Mako grade alloy would be flagged as a potential threat.

Shepard watched his HUD, noting where the red dots were moving, and their rate of travel. He counted to himself, getting the rhythm down. Quickly, he flicked the rifle to his shoulder, continuing the count and squinted. Hand-eye coordination took over, and the rifle boomed twice, then overloaded its heat sink.

Two shattered targets fell from the sky, adding their reddish clay to the mounds of earth below.

Without warning, Shepards HUD went dark, and something hijacked his systems. "Listen carefully Lieutenant. This is a test. Identify the weapons being fired, based on sound alone.

Shepard was forced to listen, his armor wasn't responding to his personal emergency override, and he couldn't see.

A ripping explosion tore into Shepards ears. He flinched slightly, "Hydra shotgun, mark six version. Black Ops."

Another similar explosion went off, forcing Shepard to listen more carefully this time. "Storm shotgun, above mark five grade. Hahne-Kedar manufacture."

A short crack was next. "Raikou, mid level grade, Ariake Technologies." Followed by "Titan, Mark one, Black Ops."

Shepard didn't know how long the sounds went on; it felt like hours. When his visor lightened into a transparent screen again, several of the other N7 candidates were gathered around him, with what looked like the contents of a dreadnoughts' armory. They didn't say anything, but their combined look of respect spoke volumes.

Shepard felt one side of his face curl up in a half-grin, and he winked at them. He turned to face the sergeant in charge of the firing range and saluted smartly. The sergeant, a stolid, scarred man if ever there was one had a meat-eating smile on his own face. He returned the salute. "Lieutenant, I know of only a few men who can do what you just did. If the rest of your skills are as good as this one, I'll be looking for you on the news someday."

The sergeant nodded a farewell, not the respectful gesture of an underling, but the action between equals. Shepard returned the movement and headed to the next task.

~o~O~o~

_Three Days Later_

Not all classes were outdoors, or even tested physical capabilities. Some were held indoors and tested the mind.

The classroom had air conditioning, something for which Shepard was thankful. He, along with a handful of other candidates, were sitting in comfortable chairs in a row. A grizzled veteran named Harris was droning at the front of the room, occasionally pointing out a flat-screen projector that had x's and arrows pointing in various directions.

Just before Shepard fell asleep, the instructor gave a sigh of relief and straightened. "There." He barked. "I've given you a full crash course in basic military tactics and strategies, as required by the Alliance Training Commission, back when the N7's were founded."

His body posture…changed. Formerly he was a tired old man with a limp, doing what he was paid to do. Now he looked wiry, still old, but more like aged hickory. Above all, he looked alert and intensely focused.

"Now, what do the turian, krogan, salarian and asari militaries have in common?" he asked the class at large.

Silence.

"Well? This should be easy enough, especially for the Alliances' best and brightest?"

More silence.

The aged instructor sighed and bent tiredly. "They are all _alive_ people. They all live, and since they live, they are capable of learning."

He turned a fierce gaze upon the group. "And so should you! I can teach you every single tactic used in the Krogan Rebellions. I can make you memorize every move made in the Rachni War. But how would that help? Lots of data, no thinking?"

The chart of x's and arrows vanished, replaced by three-dimensional hologram of a charging krogan, life size. Gasps came from the chairs occupants.

The instructor narrowed his eyes. "Scared of him, eh?"

Heads shook negatively.

Harris clenched his fists. "Well you bloody well should be!" Spittle made it halfway across the floor to the nearest candidates uniform. "That's nearly a half ton of angry krogan right there!" He swept his pointer at the image. "Three people died getting that image just so that you all could sit there and tell me it's not scary? You _should_ be scared! A scared soldier is a soldier listening to his instincts!"

Shepard raised his hand tentatively.

"Yes?" snapped the instructor.

"But sir, if we let fear control our reactions, aren't we letting whatever makes us fearful control us?" Shepard questioned. He'd been reading some of the supplemental material just before class, cramming last minute.

Harris looked pleased. "Good question. The answer is both no, and yes. No we shouldn't ignore our reactions, but yes we should rise above what our instincts tell us. Very often, our subconscious minds detect patterns the conscious mind does not. When that happens, we get what is called "instinct" or "gut feeling." The soldier that can learn the difference between wishful thinking and a gut feeling is a soldier that lives a lot longer on the battlefield."

The picture changed to another krogan. This one was carefully cradling a newborn, or at least a pile of blankets. Despite the alien nature of the krogan, a definite look of pride was on its face. "Now, this picture was in the archives on Thessia. Would you call this threatening?"

This time heads were still. Harris smiled. "Good. You learn, I am hopeful. But no holding back now, I want answers! Is this krogan such a threat?"

Heads shook, hesitantly but solidly.

Harris smiled. He had oversized canines, which made him look like a vampire. "What if I told you that the two images were of the same krogan?" He hit a switch so both could be seen. "The krogan with the baby on the left had his picture taken, then fifty years later someone took his picture again…after he found out his son had died during the Krogan Rebellions."

A pin dropped on the floor would have broken the silence.

"Krogan are the most powerful of infantry. They have strong instincts, and they use them with millennia of experience. Hurt them, and they will stop at nothing to bring the pain back on their attackers; look at the individual, see the people."

Harris waved down an upraised hand. "Yes there are outliers, cowardly krogan, undiplomatic asari. But if you interact with enough individuals, you'll have a good idea what the common alien will be like. That's why you're here, listening to me; I have experience, and you need to learn from it. Otherwise, you'll go out making mistakes and starting whole new wars on your lonsome."

"Turians are disciplined. They will follow any order given them…it's a weakness and a strength. Tell them to pull a suicide mission, they'll do it to the letter, no questions asked."

"Asari have the galaxies deadliest commandoes. They are flexible and cunning, some of them have centuries of experience. That makes them arrogant and complacent."

"Salarians are the only real competition humanity has for tactical innovation, maybe it's their lifespan I don't know. Never try to outmaneuver a salarian. Know your weaknesses, and assume that's where they'll attack."

Instructor Harris put down his stick and leaned on his desk. His dark eyes swept the room. "So where does that put us?" he asked quietly.

Shepard raised his hand. At Harris's nod he spoke: "Square in the middle, sir?"

Harris grunted. "Aye, the most dangerous place to be…and potentially the most profitable. We're stronger than asari, but weaker than krogan. We have the innovation of salarians, but the discipline of the turians. At the same time, we know exactly what can kill us, and it's on every side. If we can play the next century well, we should be in a key position. If we can't…."

Harris looked at the display of the various species, shook his head, and turned off the projector.

~o~O~o~

_One Week Later_

"Gentlemen, and ladies, what we have scheduled for you today is a test of your strategic and tactical planning."

Shepard and a group of eleven other candidates were standing in the shade of a single tree upon a hill. The hill looked over a series of fields, oddly separated by grass borders.

Cmdr Maria Quill, wore the stern expression that seemed to be issued to everyone in charge at the Villa. She was glaring in particular at Shepard, for what reason he didn't know.

"Today is a simulated criminal escape. You will be judged on the quantity of damage, the efficiency of your plan and how quickly you implement it. The scenario begins when the description ends."

She cleared her throat. "The scenario is this: A trained asari commando has gone rogue on a small colony world, and escaped into a nearby field. Each of you will be assigned a field and given a limited amount of resources to neutralize the commando. Go."

Candidates rushed to their assigned fields and began stalking around the edges. Shepard saw one lady race to a table filled with supplies, haul back and pitch a grenade into the middle of the field. It detonated with reduced impact, probably for non-lethal injuries. Nothing happened, and when the lady returned for another grenade, she was prevented from obtaining more than one more. "Sorry, ma'am. That cost you all you had for explosives"

Shepard sauntered around the field, looking it over carefully. Logically, the foe he had been assigned would be as still as possible….but then again, maybe not.

Whistling lightly, Shepard walked back to the table and gathered a few reflectors and a solar collector. As he started positioning them around the corners of the field, one of his neighbors tossed a firebomb into his field, setting it ablaze. Within seconds the entire field was on fire, driving out the suspect. He received applause for his plan, and several others swiftly moved to copy his plan.

Shepard, on the other hand, shifted one of the reflectors slightly, and plugged its emitter to the power supply. It gave off a faint hum, and an intense laser shone around the edge of the field.

Commander Quill stood behind him. "Nice fence Lieutenant, but how does that get your suspect out of the field?"

Shepard walked back to the supplies table, where he checked out a rifle and a thermal scope.

"It doesn't." He said simply. "It just stops her from escaping while I wait."

Commander Quill watched Shepard climb out of the fields line-of-sight behind a tree, setting his omni-tool to monitor the field. He then, ostentatiously, went to sleep.

Hours later, when the sun was setting, all the other fields were cleared, and no one except Commander Quill, her assistants and Shepard were still present.

As the sky darkened, Shepard woke up. He smiled pleasantly at the now scowling Commander and sneaked around the tree. Using the thermal scope, he slowly panned over the field…froze…fired.

An indignant shriek arose from the field, as a commando in full combat gear rose to full height, rubbing her posterior. Her expression was one of mixed rage and amusement.

Shepard handed in his rifle, nodded to the commando, and turned to leave.

"Wait just a minute." Commander Quill demanded. 'What was that all about? You could have been done hours ago!"

Shepard nodded thoughtfully. "That's true, but you said this was a test of strategic planning."

Quill looked blank. "So?"

"So, I figure that tactics would get the commando out, but strategy would keep the farmer as a friend. Barley is going for around fifteen credits a bushel in the current market, and that's a lot of barley in that field. If I torched the field, I make the farmer mad, I make the Alliance pay out damages and I risk losing the suspect in the smoke. By investing a little time, I made sure the suspect couldn't escape, refrained from damaging most of the crops, and got the suspect anyway."

The asari came out of the field now mostly grinning. "He's got you there, Commander. I used the same idea back on one of my assignments. How did he think it up?"

Shepard shrugged. "I saw a thermal scope on the supplies table, and thought it was unusual. Thermal scopes aren't much good during daylight hours. The obvious answer was that I could wait until the sun went down, if I could keep the suspect from leaving. A laser generator worked out, and if one of the reflectors was tipped over, I'd have heard the alarm and been able to take an easy shot."

Late that night, Shepard made his way over to the gyms' locker room. After sleeping in a tree, he needed to eliminate the kinks in his back.

Lights were out across the base, only the sentries seemed alert. Shepard used the Infiltrator training he'd received to make his quiet way over to the gym. Lighting was dim, but like all Alliance soldiers, he'd received gene therapy to increase his natural gifts. Once he'd specialized as a sniper, he'd received an especially thorough ocular enhancement program; 20/20 had become exceedingly better. Now he could make out the days headlines from half a biotiball stadium away, unaided.

The weights were stacked where he'd left them that morning, somewhat messily he'd have to admit. There was no spotter…but that was acceptable. Shepard knew what he was doing, and wasn't going to bother a buddy just so he could stretch.

Grunting, he set up the bench and started lifting. A quick rep of ten, a break of fifty seconds, and another set. The chrome handle bit into his palms with the honest heft of cold steel. Break for another fifty seconds, push out another set.

Five sets later, Shepard moved on to doing squats. Those were dangerous without proper form; he'd seen a young soldier bang out a fast set, then collapse in pain when he used his back instead of his legs. Even with the advancements of modern medicine, it'd been weeks before that soldier could even jog, let alone do squats again.

Outside voices were talking, the multiple metallic clanking sounds of lockers opening and closing. Late evening was one of the best times to hit the gym, allowing productive activity to combine with social interaction, just before bedtime.

As expected, a mixed group entered the gym on the far side. Several turned to the treadmills, others headed for the weight rack where Shepard was just starting a third round of chin-ups.

"Shepard, you still here?" A teasing female voice called out.

"Never left, you know I live in here Sally!" Shepard called back in his most serious of jocular tones.

One of the men wandered over doing arm curls with a stray handweight. "So when do you sleep?"

Shepard dropped off the chin-up bar, letting himself fall into the pushup position. "Infrequently. But when I do, I sleep like a bat; on my feet."

"You sure you aren't a sergeant? You sound like my old drill sarge back in New Canton." One of the women was performing a series of pushups as she talked. In an abstract way, Shepard admired her capacity to work out and hold a conversation without losing her breath. That was something he'd always found a little difficult. With an effort, he dragged his attention back to her next question: "Where did you go to basic Shepard?"

"Earth, the Great Plains Training Base. I guess it used to be an American base, back before the Alliance, but it was donated to the Alliance in the 50's. Then I had OTC over in Chicago; took the Off-Terran training package at Fort Charles on Titan, Zero-G in the Belt and Electronic Warfare over on the Pocket Base in Arcturus."

One of the other soldiers, whom was consulting a datapad looked up. "Fort Charles on Titan you say? The drill sergeant at the Macapà training camp there is doing our evals next week."

Shepard groaned. "Unarmed combat?"

"Yep."

"Multiple environments?"

"Um…yes."

Shepard hid his face in his hands. "Perfect. Just perfect. Lieutenant, when you have a moment, could you do me a favor?"

"Name it. But I don't work with kids, small animals or unattractive actors."

"Shoot me now."

~o~O~o~

The last week of N7 evaluation/training was on one subject only: combat. There were wide variations in how combat was defined, as diplomacy was a portion of the combat system on some worlds. That was part of what made the N7 training so respected; many people could shoot, many could talk. Few could both talk and shoot equally well.

Sergeant Gunny Ellison was one of the best, and oldest, the Alliance had to offer. Although he consistently refused to be officially listed as a part of the N7 program, he had a habit of turning up when extraordinary individuals were going to make an appearance.

Shepard heard his old instructor before he saw him. Even without listening, he could tell this was the room reserved for the instructor. Old-school posters of movie stars with names like _Chuck Norris_, and _Bruce Lee_ adorned the walls. Newer posters from the _Blasto_ movies and some extranet combat-thriller starring asari in melodramatic poses and skintight outfits. Actually, that last one seemed more realistic…asari tended to wear that kind of thing anyway….

"Alright you pusillanimous bunch of goldbrickers! I want all of you doing star jumps on the double!"

Shepard instinctively jerked to attention and felt his feet leave the ground. Behind him he could hear multiple combat boots leave the ground…and the chuckles of non-jumping individuals.

The room had an entry hall, a short one, but it served to allow the balding older man to make a sufficiently dramatic entrance. He knew how to work it as well, posing in the light, showing off a muscular physique.

Sharp brown eyes scanned the entire group, then dismissed them as no threat. "Quit hoppin' around like a sanctimonious band of perambulating rabbits and get in here!"

Shepard quit jumping with a growl. "They still haven't accepted your retirement Ellison?"

The older man laughed. "When will you get over that eternal penchant for referencing individuals by their cognomen? It's Gunnery Chief Ellison to you boy, Gunney to my friends."

"Whomever is unlucky enough to be one." Shepard grumbled. He had a half-smile on, though. Gunney was one of the toughest instructors he'd ever had, but also one of the most helpful.

"Well you're going to _loooove_ what I have in store for you today my gentle novices. Today, the first of your pugnacious efforts will be directed at an old colleague of mine." Shepard had always thought that the old man had to have been trained in theatre. There was no other way to account for his sense of timing…and drama.

A deep voice that sounded as if it came from the bottom of Earths deepest oceans broke that line of thought. "And when the youngster talks about _old_ friends, he doesn't mean just the ones he's know all his short life."

The N7 candidates came around the corner face-to-face with a krogan. Behind Shepard, someone whimpered. Shepard noticed the krogans odd pupils narrow and focus over his head. Quickly Shepard assumed a brazen body posture and put his hands on his hips, mockingly.

"Is that it Gunney? You get an overgrown Gila monster in here to teach us _etiquette_?"

Gunnery Chief Ellison nearly choked on his tongue. Shepard couldn't be sure, but past experience indicated that the particular state of his eyes was in approval and amusement.

The krogan was equally amused. "This that Ship-nerd you told me about Gunney? Looks like he can't lift half his weight in a week. Heh, get it? _Weak_."

Ellison used his cane to walk over to the krogan and slapped his shoulder affectionately. "Yeah Sam, that's the kid. Little fella actually managed to trip me up on maneuvers two years back. That's when I knew I was ready to kick back and be more indulgent to the next generation."

Shepard looked a little startled at the degree of familiarity Chief Ellison was taking with the krogan. _Sam?_ He wondered.

_Sam_ looked over the humans that had entered. They'd gotten over their shock and were now spread out loosely on their half. There was an invisible line between the krogan and themselves, one that Shepard realized he had crossed.

Ellison had been tracing Shepards line of thought. "Yes son, you get to practice pugilism toe-to-toe with a krogan. But don't worry, he's promised to avoid doing cloned body part-worthy damage."

"Only because I owe you," the krogan rumbled ominously. "You need the blood and pain to really _learn_ how to fight. It's not the same."

Shepard knew enough to never back down to a krogan. "Don't hold back on me." He retorted. "If Gunney says to take you down then get ready to eat dirt."

Ellison laughed, slapping his knee. "Good boy! I wish I had the last twenty years back. Maybe I could have taken on a krogan when I was ninety…but now…" his head shook sadly.

Sam turned a shrewd eye on Ellison. "Whine when you want Gunney, but don't try tricking the pups. You had me fair and square, and it was a worthy challenge."

The candidates kept their eyes on Ellison, flicking occasionally to Sam. "What," Sam noticed their stance. "You never told them? Hah!"

Gunney tapped his cane embarrassedly. "Ah…well…I went on vacation about two years ago. Ran into trouble out on a tramp freighter…."

Sam roared out laughing again. "A _little_ trouble? He should have been a krogan! He managed to piss off _two_ pirate ships, then managed to get both of them to crash on the same planet he did!"

Gunney casually whipped his cane sideways catching the krogan in the eye. "Stow it lizard." He turned back as the krogan rubbed his eye, swearing. "So maybe I was _somewhat_ over my head, but most people have heard of Rule Number One." He glared meaningfully at Shepard.

"Don't mess with little old men with no fear and a little smile." Shepard recited.

Gunney nodded emphatically. "I merely had to…adjust their perceptions somewhat."

Sam took one step to the side and took over the story. "I was hired by the pirates. After we crashed, half of us were in a blood-rage, looking for something to kill. Gunney here," Sam nodded his crest-plate at the man, "Gunney got ahold of the freighters armory…"he chuckled again. "Turns out, the freighter was smuggling weapons! So there we were, we had him holed up in his ship, and he starts throwing out everything in the shotlocker!" He collapsed to one knee, laughing.

Gunney looked a little disgruntled. "Superfluous waste of space. Half the weapons were too archaic to work, the other half contained enough power for only a dozen shots combined. Plus, the captain lied to me." Those in the squad whom knew Gunney smiled knowingly. "I don't like being lied too."

Sam recovered enough to continue. "Well, all we saw was an old man shouting at us and throwing guns at us, like he didn't care how many weapons we had. That earned him respect. Enough to get us to talking, especially after he stunned the Chief, clubbed him with an old decrepit shotgun."

Gunney looked uncomfortable. "I was out of ammo!"

"Whatever. Anyway, so that's why I respect him. That's why I'm here. What are you gonna do about it?"

One of the students, Sally, stepped forward. 'Whatever we need to, to get accepted."

Sam grunted. It sounded like a hippopotamus had discovered an edible, angry obstacle between itself and the water.

"Ya don't need _acceptance_," krogan tridactyl hands were remarkably well suited for air quotes, "You need to pass. Who cares what people think so long as they let you do your job?"

Shepard smiled. He believed he could see the end-goal. In addition, he noticed that the krogan wasn't carrying any weapons. So, he was ready when the massive biped lashed out, decking Sally.

Shepard ducked back, dodging low. A biotic further back launched an attack. Sam glowed lightly, instantly revealing unobvious talents.

_He's a biotic._ Shepard filed that fact away. That complicated things. Krogan had an incredible amount of stamina, not to mention a capability for surviving weeks without food or water. Their hump stored nutrition, and provided armor against attacks from behind; no one had ever choked a krogan to his knowledge.

A wild cry pierced the air as a truly enormous man charged the krogan. Shepard recognized him, Alan, former multi-martial arts master-turned soldier. He'd taught the other rookies in the N7 program a few tricks when they had time.

Sam evidentially read Alans' body language enough to realize this was an above average fighter. He shrugged off another soldiers' attack on his right by simply sweeping his fist like a weavers' beam and met Alan's attack.

While Alan kept the krogan busy (where had Alan gotten those brass knuckles?), Shepard got the attention of a few other candidates. With a few words he sketched an attack pattern, and they raced to the attack.

Sam saw them coming and managed to fling Alan into a wall. Fast as he was, he wasn't fast enough to dodge a half dozen of the Alliance's best and brightest. Two soldiers grabbed onto Sams' right arm and held on like grim death. Another soldier, a rather beefy specimen, rammed his full weight into the krogans' abdomen. Shepard waded in with the full training he'd received, combining efficient body shots with more powerful kicks. Every blow felt like he was punching a wall, the krogan may not have been wearing body armor but he was _hard_.

Sam bellowed with laughter…apparently this was _fun_? Shepard decided to change tactics. He dropped onto the ground and whipped both of his legs around one of the krogans, shifted up to what looked like a knee and _twisted_. Sam was indeed a half-ton of bad attitude, but even a straw could be driven into an oak tree with enough skill.

The giant krogan toppled, N7 operatives on top of him. One pummeled his underjaw while a second found leverage against the floor and got the krogans arm in a joint-lock.

Just as Sam was well and truly pinned…chaos erupted.

Shepard was only barely aware of a blisteringly fast form that charged out of a door. But he heard the scream as one of the men holding Sam's arms was lifted up and _squeezed_.

Gunney was there suddenly, bellowing at the top of his voice. His cane was upraised and sparking. Shepard could see another krogan, smaller than Sam, tossing the limp giant Alan over his shoulder contemptuously. He grabbed Gunney's cane and snapped it with one hand, then kicked the old man, sending him flying half a dozen feet backwards into a wall.

Shepard had lost complete control only twice in his life, once when he was eleven years old, and again when he was sixteen. Both times he'd lost all sense of "other," the capability to recognize abstract though; peripheral vision had vanished and fierce, unbridled power jerked his limbs. This time, however, was different, he'd been taught a dozen methods to kill with his bare hands, and the implants had helped coordinated his body. The greatest difference, however, was how he'd been trained to think. Blind aggression had become modified to a focused point, to use all available resources to accomplish one goal. In essence, what had been a blundering mess of hormones was now a rational, cold killer.

Seeing Gunney go down clarified the next task well: kill the murderer.

The genetic modifications tapped Shepards adrenaline helping him push off the floor and shoulder charge the interloper. This krogan was nowhere near 750 pounds, more like 340. By comparison Shepard weighed 210 in his bare socks, not the equal, but definitely something to cause pause. Years of weight training powered multiple hand-strikes and gave his boots what could be only described as a little more…_kick_. Unlike a frontline soldier, Shepard had no extensive implants for adrenaline. Snipers were trained to react faster, not just induce a heightened state. On the other hand, implanted soldiers didn't need to spend as much time training for long-distance shots, or how to move in silence. A soldiers' time was spent learning how to bring the pain to their foe.

Still, any Alliance Infiltrator graduate was no less deadly, just in different ways. Very few humans could stand up to a krogan in open melee, but an Infiltrator didn't have to. Infiltrators were trained to disable, then eliminate.

Krogan were very hard to disable.

~o~O~o~

Gunney grunted as he got up. Sam offered him a helping hand, but the old soldier batted it away. "I only passed a hundred a few years ago Sam. I'm copacetic."

The large alien looked down in confusion. "You're a child?"

Gunney laughed darkly. "Humans only live to around a hundred an' forty, if we're lucky. Most die by the time they hit their second 20's."

A look of realization came over Sam's expression. "That explains a lot…I never knew that."

Sounds from the corner drew their attention. "You train your pups well." Sam acknowledged. "I wouldn't have thought any human could stay up this long against one of my krantt."

Gunney narrowed his eyes. "I think we should stop them…Shepard's one of the best…and he means killing."

At that statement, Sam's head whipped back to look at the two brawlers. Other N7 recruits were hanging back, reluctant to get in close. Every time someone approached, the fight took an unexpected turn and the incautious had to leap for safety. However, one or two of the recruits seemed to lose control right when they approached the dueling pair and launched themselves into the fray. They didn't last long.

He growled. "That's a blood rage if I ever saw one. Didn't know humans could get them."

Gunney sighed. "We do…just not this time."

Sam looked back at the fighting pair. Shepard was using both arms to pummel the krogan he was facing directly on the point of his face, the nose for lack of a better term. The krogan was damaged, too. His arm was awkwardly thrashing, trying to clout Shepard while the other arm held Shepards leg.

The elder krogan glared at Gunney. "This one of those "need to know" things?

Gunney nodded. "There's a transmitter on that side of the room, focused on Shepard. It stimulates the aggressive portions of his brain, forcing him to take the more violent actions. It isn't pretty, but an N7 operative has to know what he's capable of when pushed to the wall."

Sam grunted in low laughter, ignoring the confused looks the soldiers were pointing in his direction. "You're giving him a Rite. Show him what a warrior is about."

Gunney didn't pretend to understand. "Something like that. It makes the next lesson all the more ingrained." He hit his omnitool and hobbled over towards the battlers.

The two were still fighting hammer and tongs, but without the viciousness they'd been exerting earlier. Neither noticed the combat expert carefully step on an insulated floor cover. Instantly arcs of electricity came alive, jolting everyone within range.

~o~O~o~

Shepard lay gasping as the power faded. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see the larger krogan approaching, and the smaller one rising to his feet. For a second, he felt hopelessness, he'd been barely holding his own against the smaller krogan, how could he take on two at the same time?

Then, the larger krogan hauled back and slammed the smaller krogan with his headplate. "Don't you know how to take on a human? Pin and smash, all you need to do."

The smaller krogan was wincing, almost driven to his knees. "Battlemaster, he wouldn't be pinned."

Another blow rocked the smaller krogan. "You have arms don'tcha? How come you kept swinging? Give him an Embrace of Death."

Shepard managed to reach his feet, gamely re-assuming a ready stance.

"Stand down Lieutenant." Came a gruff voice.

Shepard relaxed and stood still. The larger krogan leaned over, sniffing at him. Shepard forced himself not to react, even when the much, much larger being glared one slit-pupil eye into his own. He smelled like charcoal and burnt meat, along with a faint sour hint of dry scales, like a rattlesnake.

The krogan nodded once. "You fight well. We'll see what happens to you after your Battlemaster is done with you."

The two krogan left the room, leaving Shepard alone with the other soldiers and Gunnery Chief Ellison. The soldiers were looking at him with something akin to awe, and the Chief had a smirk on his face. That could be good or bad.

"Well…now that the excitement is over, we get to the important part of today's activities." Gunney drawled. "We will now commence with what was not used at all: diplomacy. We just witnessed part of the krogan language. Now while krogans utilize physical mannerisms, what we just saw can be stylized as _shouting, _in a dominant voice_._"

~o~O~o~

In the end, there was still two months more of training. Additional interrogation-resistance training. Hand-to-hand combat training, with krogans, turians and even an asari, although she kept picking on Shepard for some reason and quoting obscure literature. The other recruits found it hilarious, some were envious. Shepard was just uncomfortable.

The entire process came to a close exactly five months after it began. No other training session with the N7 program would last as long, but they would all be more intense, should they pass their present stage.

Of course, Shepard passed. His beatdown of a krogan became a campus legend. Although instructors would stress his behavior on the battlefield as being completely rational, students would hear rumors that at least one of their number was capable of a Blood Rage equal to a krogan. The instructors didn't discourage the rumors, other than mild remonstrance. It was good for morale, and gave them someone of their own rank to look up to.

~o~O~o~

The awards ceremony was held in a small chapel on the south side of the Villa. Only ten candidates had passed, out of a full hundred applicants. Shepard passed with flying colors, something he attributed to luck, while others attributed to skill.

A legend was in the making.

_Authors Note: I used Gunnery Chief Ellison as the combat specialist, due to his being mentioned in ME1, and because I love playing around with characters with expanded vocabularies. My comprehension of the ranking system is kinda bad, so in the Mass Effect universe I tweaked the system a little bit. After all, it's not a large stretch of the imagination to require all personnel on board a starship to have ship-operations training, especially the officers. It's not like the marines can be frozen any time they're not on a mission._

_Again, thanks for reading. I have two more chapters (maybe 3 depending on the Akuze idea). So long folks, thanks for watching._


	7. Requested Data Addendum

To: DAnderson .gov

Subject: Evaluation

Captain Anderson,

We wished to thank you for your recommendation that the Board of Special Projects evaluate a potential Naval assignment of Lieutenant-Commander Shepard. His accomplishments to date are no less than astounding, despite his youth.

However, the N7 ranking system does not automatically grant promotions within the Alliance armed forces. The duties and responsibilities of command must be judged by a system calibrated on more than just the capabilities of the elite.

Because of your prestigious career, and your actions in combat, this board will be taking measures to ensure Lieutenant-Commander Shepard will be tested by the best the Alliance has to offer. Should he pass these tests he will be, at your request, be given the option to serve on the *NAME REDACTED* project. As he has already attained the level of N5, we will expect much of him.

We appreciate your taking Lieutenant-Commander Shepard as a protegè. Mentoring the future generation of the Alliance is both a burden and a great blessing.

Respectfully,

Eduardo V. E. L. Saint

Chairman of Special Projects Board

Alliance Research and Development


	8. The Final Step

Authors Note: _All right, the final chapter! The next chapter will be one of the main goals I've had for this mini-epic: Elysium. Since I was asked, I'll do an Akuze version as well, although it may take me a while. School starts up for me next week, and I'll be a tad busier than usual._

_I'd like to thank Drussius for allowing me to include a little cameo from the __Sileya__. He and Fainmaica are the two to be blamed…er…held responsible for getting me involved with this site. I would encourage any discerning reader to take a look at their stories, they are very well done!_

_Well then, I'm already writing the next chapter. Not sure when it will be done, but I think I can guarantee within three weeks._

_Until next time!_

* * *

_Skies are a relative thing_, Shepard mused. Earth had a guaranteed blue sky, when the pollution and cloud cover allowed you to see it during the daytime. Mars had a dim atmosphere, letting the stars be seen at all times, day or night. Mindoir skies had a slight blue with a greenish tinge, what with the lesser water volume. The planet he was on right now had an off gray-colored sky. What passed as a sun was smaller and brighter than he was used too. The thought made him chuckle. Used to. He hadn't been under one sun type for more than two months in the past year alone. Brass kept finding new jobs for him to accomplish, more "impossible" tasks. Shepard shrugged internally, it was an occupational hazard.

The spaceport on this forsaken planet was a small one, capable of shuttle launches only. The shuttle pads were surrounded by burnt patches, so its usual pilots needed more practice. A few craters well outside the boundaries indicated the results of when practice was not employed. Hence the positioning of the facility on a dirt-poor planet with no colony to suffer an explosion.

~o~O~o~

Captain Anderson stood back, watching his protégé. The shuttles were boarding and his young friend was intently observing the surroundings. Anderson had watched young Shepard ever since he'd received the tip from an old friend on the response team back on Mindoir. Even then, Shepard had stood out. Now, he stood out even more.

Shepard had once been a rail thin recruit and sandy hair, less than a hundred fifty pounds with rocks in his pockets. Now, with the Alliance training and mods, he'd filled out fairly well, not with sculpted muscle like the gym rats were so fond of, but with the practical version earned by hard work in the field. He was still the same height, a little over six feet, but his every move was precise. No motion was wasted, at least on the field. Off the field he had a penchant for being a little clumsy, almost like a teenager unused to the rapid growth, but that would pass in time. When he wasn't thinking about it, Shepard could have been the image for a recruitment poster.

The co-pilot waved them onto the shuttle. Grateful to leave the planet behind, Anderson gestured to Shepard and stepped onto the ramp. Most shuttles didn't need co-pilots these days, but this _was_ a pilot training camp, and experience was needed.

~o~O~o~

Shepard hung back a minute. He'd been able to get a little training in vehicle operation here, but he'd enjoyed the solitude even more. As soon as anyone found out he was rated an N6, they wanted stories or favors. He'd never really minded; his personality was geared towards being a people person, but once in a while…it was nice to be alone.

However, training time was over. He'd had more time than he'd expected, almost three weeks on the new Mako class armored transport as well as the Kodiak shuttle. He was still a bit shaky on the fine-tuning drives, but could get around no problem.

"So, what's the next assignment, sir?" Shepard asked.

Anderson grimaced. "Am I that transparent? Why couldn't I be here to escort you to a new assignment on a cutting-edge attack craft?" His expression was only partially jocular.

Shepard counted on his fingers. "Well, you are one of the most experienced N7 officers, you have been my mentor for almost 27 months, and in that time there has been an 85% correlation to my getting a new combat assignment whenever you show up. The 15% nonrelated visits have either been when I'm recovering in a hospital, or that time you took me out to that pub on Eden Prime. When I had to carry you back to your cabin. Sir."

What Shepard didn't tell Captain Anderson was that he'd been bored out of his skull driving in circles. When the autopilot was keyed to take over, the onboard VI was more than capable of calculating probabilities. To date, he'd had around three weeks between assignments, just as he liked it. Too much time on his hands was…bad.

His superior officer grimaced. "I held them back as long as I could, Shepard. I pointed out you haven't had two weeks off the job in over three years."

Trying to deflect the conversation, Shepard mentioned: "I had about six months off for my first grade N7…"

Captain Anderson shook his head as if he hadn't heard Shepard. "But things have gotten rough. Very rough."

Both went silent as the shuttle passed through the barrier curtain of the _Kilimanjaro_, one of humanities best dreadnoughts. Human tech wasn't up to galactic standard in some areas, but combat vessels were currently only slightly behind. Humans had made up for their technical deficiency by utilizing obscure tactics and _carriers_.

Anderson remained silent as they disembarked to the hanger. It was understandable, missions for the Alliance as an operative were generally on a need-to-know basis, if only to keep the people in charge happy to be knowledgeable about _something_.

The hanger had an elevator in the back, leading to the second level. Frigates usually only had three levels, but the _Kilimanjaro_ had twelve. The heavy mass drivers and GUARDIAN batteries had to be interspersed for maximum coverage after all, and that took room. Additionally there were shield emitters that required installation space, and room for repairs during battle.

Like most Alliance ships, the _Kilimanjaro_ had sleep pods for their crew, but there was space enough for private cabins for the upper officers. There was even a mid-level devoted for recreation and meeting rooms; which apparently was where Anderson was bringing him.

Conference rooms were fairly standard across known space. Well, except for the Turians; Turians didn't have "conference rooms" per se. They had "war rooms." Those were smaller, fewer amenities and more tactical data displays. This particular room looked as if it could hold several dozen people, which made sense for a fleet flagship. There was even an extranet terminal, complete with holo display.

The only current occupants of the room however were the fleet commander, Admiral Hackett and an asari in black commando leathers. All were in conversation discussing something Shepard couldn't overhear. The room was designed to obfuscate eavesdropping, the walls angled in reflective patterns over the table.

Anderson kept walking up the tables' length, so Shepard followed, trying not to stumble over his own feet while assuming the dutiful Stupid-yet-Earnest body language. He wasn't acclimated to the rarified echelons by any means, but he'd been around his superiors long enough to pick up on a few strategems.

Hackett and the fleet commander looked up as Captain Anderson approached and saluted. Hackett returned the sign of respect.

"Anderson, it's been too long." Hackett reached out, half standing and shook the captains hand. "Glad you could make it."

"My pleasure, sir. This is Lieutenant-Commander Shepard." Anderson motioned at the taller man at his side.

Shepard saluted stiffly with absolute military precision. He'd seen Admiral Hackett before, often received orders from the aged leader, but he'd never been in a face-to-face meeting with him. He took a moment to examine his superior, circumspectly of course.

The admiral nodded in response to his salute, but didn't give one of his own. So, that meant he was a traditional man, but was willing to be casual in private settings. His graying hair and lined face made indications of his age being more than the forty years he'd been allotted so far. Still, the man was a young legend for his quick progress from an enlisted man to an admiral. He'd been only a second-lieutenant during the First Contact War and was already a full admiral less than twenty years later.

Hackett also walked with a limp. There was a decided hitch in his right leg, which might have had something to do with the prominent scar along the right cheekbone. Shepard thought about it briefly, then gave it up as a lost cause. The man was more decorated than the recipient of a _Better Homes and Gardens_makeover. Heaven only knew which conflict gave him what mark.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard noticed the asari watching him. As with most of her species, Shepard could only tell she was young, but whether that translated to three centuries or a few decades was beyond him.

"So what is your opinion?" Hackett asked him unexpectedly.

"Sir?" Shepard played for time.

"Come on, all grunts have some opinion or other. Remember I was one of them only a few years ago." Hackett had the look of someone who knew exactly what was going on behind the mask.

Shepard racked his short-term memory, looking for the relevant bit of conversation he'd missed. Nothing. He'd have to wing it.

"Opinions are as plentiful as hydrogen." he countered, "I'd prefer not to have one until it's an informed one, sir."

Hackett didn't exactly grin…his face wasn't built for it. But something in his eyes glinted. "Well said." He turned to Captain Anderson. "He'll do, if he's any good in unarmed combat."

Anderson chuckled warmly. "He put a half-dozen N5's in the hospital during Basic. When he reached N7, he took on a Battlemaster and nearly won."

Bushy eyebrows raised. "Almost?"

"The krogan ambassador called him off before it got too serious."

Shepard held his tongue. Those situations had been slightly different the way he remembered, but Anderson was one of the best advocates a grunt could have. He could be trusted.

The admiral stood and went to the extranet terminal. "Shepard, do you know what this is?"

Music poured from the terminal. Shepard had to exert himself to not show surprise. "That, uh, that's me. Sir."

The asari had one eyebrow raised, her gaze had changed from mere curiosity to something more…predatory. Why was she present?

"Son, I've heard some music before, they had a whole blasted orchestra for when I made Admiral." Hackett let the music play and hit more commands. "What I want to know is how well you can play."

Shepard dropped the Earnest-but-Stupid façade. He sensed Anderson nod slightly. "Sir, this is not a normal situation, is it?"

The atmosphere in the room became more serious.

Two marine guards entered the room, fully armed. One of them had his omni-tool out and scanning. "Sir, the next two N7 are here."

Hackett nodded, "Show them in."

The guards saluted crisply and exited. Moments later a giant of a man entered, followed by another man with a furious mustachio.

Shepard started, then grinned, staying silent. Both men ignored him completely and went through the whole greeting process.

"Lieutenant-Commander, I believe you know Lieutenants Tchiesveld and Valdez?"

Both men glanced over, and did a double take. "Shepard?" the taller one asked.

Shepard nodded gravely, turning so only the two men could see his face. When Anderson and Hackett were distracted, he made a ridiculous face for a second, and reassumed his normal bland expression.

The shorter man snorted, as Shepard knew he would. Arvid managed to keep himself under control, but the asari was still darting looks back and forth between the trio.

"We asked you three here because of your expertise and of your known association." Hackett seemed to have a knack for punctuating odd silences. That's why he was an admiral, probably.

The _Kilimanjaro_ shuddered as it entered FTL, then settled to a smoother vibration.

"This is the situation." The fleet commander took over, he was one of the shortest men Shepard had ever seen, barring the Volus images he'd picked up. "Data for an Alliance project has been stolen by a group of tech thieves. These thieves have been operating within Council space for the last few years, and moved into Alliance space within the last few months."

"Why hasn't the Council done anything about them?" Arvid asked. His voice had changed, from a deep baritone to a true basso. It matched his physique very well.

The fleet commander looked irritated. "Because heaven forbid that the _Council_ get off their collective fat-"

Hackett cleared his throat meaningfully.

"That is to say, the Council has enough on its plate than to worry about a few unimportant thieves. Even such minor thieves that managed to steal stealth technology from the Turians."

Shepard raised his eyebrows. Turians were downright OCD about privacy rights; whatever the Council had intended, these thieves were definitely one of the better groups out there.

"We have been asked to aid the Asari Commandos in apprehending these thieves, as Intelligence has indicated that the suspects have stopped inside Alliance space. The rest of the briefing will be under Lt. Micha."

The asari stood. "Thank you. The job is simple, we infiltrate the suspect base, we grab what we came for, and we leave." She sat back down, smirking.

There was a confused silence. Arvid raised a hand. She nodded, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Ma'am, what do we carry on this one?"

She was still smirking. "Since this is your territory, I think you know what's legal here better than I do."

Arvid blinked. "Where is the location then?"

"_Much_ better question." The purple tinted asari got up and stalked to the extranet terminal. "It turns out this team of thieves has quite the eye for local watering holes. Their preferred method of operation is to set up, or take over, a medium to high-class business and use it for organizing their operation." She stood back, calling up a hologram of a two story dance club. "All we need are a few trained musicians who also happen to be killers, a dancer or two, and some backup. Chunk of kayan."

The asari turned around and put one hand on her hip. "That's of course assuming at least _some_ of you know about something more than combat?"

Shepard stayed still. Thirty seconds of silence later, Captain Anderson flicked his eye over disapprovingly. Shepard exhaled angrily, music was his personal hobby, not something to bandy around like a cheap merc-for-hire.

"Fine." He growled. "I can play some stringed instruments."

Micha raised an eyebrow. "Really? Can you actually play, or are you trying to get in my…good side?"

In answer, Shepard activated his omni-tool, calling up one of his audition pieces from when he'd considered applying for an orchestra position. An image of Shepard playing flamboyant Latin music appeared, complete with guitar, a pulsating percussion section and a harmonizing pair of singers.

Micha narrowed her eyes. "Well…so the boy has…talent."

Arvid snorted. Karl shifted an infinitesimally small distance, and Arvid found an astonishingly heavy weight on his foot.

~o~O~o~

Oddly enough, the _Kilimanjaro_ was able to refit one of its meeting rooms into a concert hall. Apparently the infiltration team had to make an audition video for working at the restaurant. Whatever the reason behind it, Shepard was irritated by everyone's ability to simply take his personal hobby and flaunt it to the galaxy. What was almost as irritating was the tacky décor someone had dreamed up. The theme was latin music, so someone had grabbed a pair of Grecian masks (in and of itself acceptable signs of the theatre), and started layering Italian decorations all over the camera frame. Roman shields, olive leaves…maybe a statue of what someone interpreted Julius Caesar to look like…after his assassination.

Topping it all off, the Lieutenant was wearing a "dance" dress. Shepard couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a joke, or honest ignorance. There were some ruffles scattered here and there, and there was an acceptable amount of heel, but the cut was definitely wrong, overall far too formfitting, and incredibly poorly designed for anything like Flamenco.

He sat and watched for a few minutes while a salarian with a guitar wandered past (how did that work with three fingers?) and Lieutenant Mischa tried a few tentative steps. She had good balance, but the effect was ruined by her falling over a techie who was trying to connect the amps.

Arvid looked lost over on the sidelines. He was examining his suit, trying to find the activation sequence. Shepard didn't have the heart to tell him a standard tuxedo didn't come with tech armor.

Only Karl looked relatively happy. He was seated behind the percussion section, working with the interface. He wouldn't be the actual drummer, but he had some working knowledge, and could adjust the acoustics to match whatever the lead asked.

Chaos continued building. Once the rest of the musicians arrived, they began tuning their various instruments. The unfortunate truth was that while all of them agreed on using the 440 hertz tuning frequency, they couldn't arrive on a consensus on the tempo, or even the appropriate music. Granted, the two humans (one a singer/guitarist, the other a singer/percussionist) knew what they were doing, but it wasn't enough to make the group coalesce.

With the dispiriting lack of progress, the group broke up for the night. Each promised to consider the matter deeply by the next session.

~o~O~o~

Shepard approached Micha while she packed her bag. "Why didn't you study this before coming here" he asked bluntly.

Micha bristled. "I've been dancing longer than your species has known about spaceflight, _human_."

"What? In front of a group of drooling half-drunk morons? You could put a trained varren in front of them and they'd toss credits if it ate someone." Shepard shot back.

"And _you are_ some kind of expert?"

Shepard went ice cold, it showed in his eyes. His timbre shifted to what was usually stamped from hull alloy. "I've been learning music for 75% of my life, and competed in Old-Earth challenges for half of that. I know flamenco, two forms of tango and the waltz. It's how I grew up."

The last of the musicians left, leaving them with the lights and an awkward pause.

"So how come you can't dance in public? I saw you on leave once." The asari shuddered. 'It was like watching a shuttle crash into a fuel station, only not as graceful."

Shepard went red. "I never learned the new styles, never had time to learn after…I got older. But I do know the classics."

Micha struggled visibly with herself. Finally, she asked meekly: "Can you teach me?"

In response, Shepard cued up a new piece, percussion throbbing. He closed his eyes, internalizing the rhythm. "To truly perform a Latin-American dance, you need to let it fuel what burns within. Let it send fire to your feet, emanating from your soul."

A violin was left on a nearby stand, sleek and glistening. Shepard grasped its neck and flipped the wide end onto his shoulder. His head began to nod with the drums just as a guitar soared into the melody. Fingers flexed, silently running across the fingerboard. Shepards' eyes opened, still calculating, but now internally lit.

Uncharacteristically, he grinned saucily and slammed his bow across the strings. Rocking his shoulders to the beat, he timed half-steps backwards onto the dance floor. A side flick of his head invited the asari to join him.

Grinning she twirled after him, almost tripping over the hem of her dress. Shepard whipped out his right hand to stop her, catching his bow with his left, wedging the violin between his chin and shoulder. A deft twist shoved the asari back onto her feet, leaving them both breathing heavily for a second.

Shepard stared at her for a second, then sighed. "This isn't going to work with me playing the music. Hang on…."

He set the violin down and adjusted the music to include a violin in its output. He hesitated for a moment, regaining the rhythm, and started clapping his hands in time. "Grab my left hand, use your right to control the height of your skirt. Good." Shepard started stepping smoothly, guiding the commando in a circle. "Now alternating feet. Stamp left...right….left…right…triple-step, spin. Excellent."

~o~O~o~

At 0700 hours, the musicians returned to practice. This time the music flowed and Micha was able to perform the dance moves nigh flawlessly. Shepard had to admit, she was highly coordinated, and a quick study. It had taken her only half an hour before she'd mastered the basic steps and moved onto the more difficult castanets. It had also amused her when Shepard offered to work on her dress; apparently, most males in the galaxy were incompetent when it came to repairing fabric. For Shepard, sewing had been a required skill for a colonist; do it yourself, or trade labor with another colonist. Most colonists preferred to learn self-sufficiency.

Since that evening, Shepard had taken his place as the violinist in the band, playing with the rest of the musicians. It was fascinating to watch the salarian guitarist play. His hands moved far faster than a humans' would, and were actually more flexible, allowing chords to be played with only two fingers. The posture wasn't great, but that enabled him to angle the thumb around, helping with the chords.

Karl Valdez, however, had been roped into a singing role. When the band discovered that he knew Castilian Spanish, and was also able to carry a tune, they'd informed Admiral Hackett that unless the N7 operative sang, they would quit the whole operation. Authentic singers were a rare commodity these days.

The band and dancers had only a few days to practice together, but they made it count, practicing together for hours every day, then on their own. A true band would know hundreds of pieces, but the best this group could hope for was a few dozen. That was more than they'd expected, however, thanks to salarian's incredible memory, Shepard's experience and a retinal projector on Karls' eye.

Anderson came to watch their final rehearsal before they were dropped off. He startled them by clapping loudly at the climax of their final set.

"Good! I can't believe how well you've pulled this together gentlemen!"

Shepard, acting as spokesman, bowed professionally. "Thank you sir. We appreciate the sincere enthusiasm of a discerning audience."

Anderson laughed. "Keep him in charge and you might get tips out of the bargain."

Lieutenant Micha gave him a dazzling smile, "He talks, I dance, and the boys in the back can play to their hearts content."

Arvid adjusted the cuffs on his jacket. "Um, sir? What kind of backup do we get in this, sir?"

The sound of an opening violin case came from the back. "The old-fashioned kind, of course!" Karl held up an assault rifle hidden in the instrument case. "How can you go wrong with a baby like this backing you up?"

Arvid gave the weapon a single horrified look, then transferred the same expression to his superior officer.

He was too late, however, Anderson had already slipped out the door. His final words slipped back in, however. "I'll be listening from orbit. As soon as you need backup we'll be dropping a shuttle from a…third party."

~o~O~o~

Since dropping out of an Alliance dreadnought and claiming to be a simple traveling band might have proven slightly unbelievable to the locals, Anderson had used his contacts to hire a mercenary shuttling business _Drew Zius Spacelanes_. Well, it was officially a privately owned shipping company, but the captain of the ship they were hiring looked more than capable of taking on a few commandos.

The _Sileya_ was a typical asari merchant vessel, built with a scaled down version of the same infrastructure in the more famous _Destiny Ascension_. Her frame was not as powerful, of course, nor was the engine as large, but on a whole the vessel was well-equipped to deter raiders with minimal cost. Like most freighter vessels traveling the Traverse, the _Sileya_ possessed heavy shields, but had devoted most of the space that would ordinarily have gone to the minimal weapons allowed by Council law for more engine space.

The owner, however, was far above the usual merchant commander. Captain Nisaria was well beyond her Maiden stage, which either made her a Matriarch or a Matron. Since Matriarchs were usually revered as wise elders and kept close to home, that would make her a Matron.

Her crew was varied, however, as befitted a trading crew. There was a krogan, Tredak, who oversaw general maintenance of the _Sileya_. He seemed smaller than the norm of his species, but he had a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. The chief engineer was a salarian named Monir, pretty good at what he did, but not much better than the average.

The other crewmate was actually a pair of asari, twins in fact. The Tikan twins were apparently in charge of driving passengers crazy, navigation and piloting. The two of them had an eerie habit of knowing where the other was at all times, almost as if they were sharing thoughts.

Shepard hid from them in the cargo hold, ostensibly checking on the instruments. That took little time, however; all that was needed was to check the temperature and humidity. To spend more time away from the overly-friendly twins, he started fieldstripping the sidearm he'd carried along.

Soon enough, he heard the light footsteps of an asari behind his back. He pretended not to hear; simple musicians didn't have the skills he did after all. Still, he pieced together the pistol and slipped it into the shoulder holster. It wouldn't do to be seen caring for a weapon overly much.

The dim lighting hid his motions, allowing him to maintain cover for the most part. It also hid the movements of whoever was behind him, forcing Shepard to stagger against a box when Captain Nisaria appeared out of nowhere.

"You come down here often." She said. It wasn't the idle chitchat Shepard was used to, it was more a statement of fact, inviting an explanation for a potentially insulting action.

Shepard grinned vapidly. "It's quiet down here."

The captain didn't return the grin. "I don't know who you are, and I sure as Hell don't know what you're doing here. I'll give you some advice, don't start trouble on my ship."

Faking wide-eyed alarm, Shepard tripped backward a step. "Uh-yes ma'am! No trouble here ma'am!"

Captain Nisaria nodded once and turned her back, stalking to the exit. Behind her, Shepard maintained the façade of incompetent fear, until after she'd left the hold.

He shivered. Nisaria was one of the more threatening individuals to their cover, likely she'd been a merc in her time, and knew all the tells for the past half millennia. Maybe it would be better to return to the cabin they all shared, save when Micha was asleep. Then the band found excuses to be elsewhere, generally playing Skyllian Five in the galley. Monrir had taught Shepard a few interesting tricks. But…generally the Tikans were there, making eyes at what they considered suitable targets.

A soft movement was all the warning he had. A glowing blue blur descended upon him from nowhere. Shepard barely had enough time to react, ducking to absorb the blow and triggering the emergency shielding he'd installed in his civvies.

The blow shattered his shield, but allowed him to stay on his feet. With no time to reach for his sidearm, Shepard launched a blistering fast series of body shots he'd learned from a salarian instructor back for N4. The opponent, an asari by the coloration, had reacted just as fast as he had, using biotics to counter his every blow.

Shepard used the series of eye-movements he'd been taught to activate his omni-tool, firing a brief electric shock into asari's barrier disrupting it. He froze when he recognized Captain Nisaria's face, and saw a triumphant glint in her eyes. Slowly he pulled back, as she did likewise.

"What gave me away?" he asked curiously.

Nisaria shook her head dismissively. "Little things. You always smell of lubricant after you come down here, and you're far too confident when telling my crew to back off."

Shepard exhaled in exasperation. "I always change any clothes that could carry the scent, how did you get that?"

"Krogan have an amazing sense of smell. Tredak is also a weapons smith, if you get to know him well enough. He could tell you more about weapons development in the past century than an encyclopedia."

The shields powered down at Shepards command. "And the crew? I thought I was pretty good there."

Nisaria nodded, "You were good there, but then you got too good. Collectively. When the Tikan twins set their sights on a man, he's generally theirs inside a few days." Her expression didn't change, but her voice took on a trace of…something. Apology?" They are…young. Impulsive." The shred of humanity left. "And will be looking for new employment soon. You and your boys resisted them. Plus, the three of you look like you could take on a krogan, and believe me, I would know."

Shepard stretched his neck muscles, making the vertebrae crack. "So what do you want?"

"Same as before. Don't start any trouble on my ship. I don't know who you are, or why you're here." Nisaria raised a hand as Shepard started to speak, "And I don't want to know. Three soldier-boys and one asari Maiden on a freighter? The whole thing stinks of sneaking around. That means special ops, and you boys don't always play nice with the civilians."

Shepard allowed himself to break cover and attained an alert full military posture, grinning lopsidedly. "Ma'am, I can assure you that your vessel is not going to be anywhere near my field of operations."

The older asari gave a professional nod. "Good. Make sure it stays that way."

~o~O~o~

The _Sileya_ landed, and the group departed with no incident, although there were some insulted facial expressions from the rebuffed. The planet they landed on was an obscure no-name colony in the Traverse, technically claimed by the Alliance. In all practicality, it operated as its own entity, paid its taxes and got its periodic funding grants. Since it was close to the spacer lanes, it received more business from groups outside the Alliance than in, and granted a certain amount of anonymity to its customers. Locals had named it Jodenheim, after Norse mythology, but the rest of the Traverse called it Frost.

Jodenheim was an inhabitable M-class planet a bit colder than humans liked it. Environment bubbles contained warmer conditions, and allowed more control over business opportunities. It had gotten to the point where Jodenheim was becoming known as a "poor mans' Noveria." That was possibly a good thing, and possibly not.

Shepard relaxed against a hanger wall as the salarian dickered with the port authorities. Storage fees were all very well, but instruments were not going to be left in the cold. Port authorities, of course, were as eager as ever to earn an extra credit and were reluctant to let potential cargo go strolling off with their owners. A sufficiently large crew, with a fairly small ship, could carry off all the "personal effects" they could carry, nearly nullifying the point of a storage manager.

Finally, after invoking the potential wrath of the musicians union (bad news for a colony with entertainment industries), they were allowed the privilege of carrying their own instruments. And everything else, in retaliation. The workers would claim they feared "offending" the musicians union, but both sides would see through that particular pathetic tale.

The band set up a temporary base in a rented room as the salarian and Lt. Micha looked for employment. That left time for recon and evaluation. Maps had been provided, of course, but the key to any successful operation was to discover what Intelligence had gotten _wrong._

Micha and the salarian returned soon with good news.

"We have a gig at the Deja Blue tonight!"

Shepard looked mildly disappointed. "I thought we were looking to get hired by that club? What's its name, the Nova?"

Micha shrugged. "This place is right next door, and frankly it looks like it would fit our venue better. Besides, I'd already turned down three offers, we can't do too much of that. It would look bad"

The salarian hissed a chuckle and plucked an off-key chord. "Even if the "requests" weren't for our brand of theatrics?"

"Bands take gigs wherever they can get, especially if they're new." Micha defended herself.

The salarian shook his head. "You don't know much about freelancing, do you?" He held up both hands as she started to stiffen, "freelance _musician_. I have no doubt you know all there is to know about mercs."

~o~O~o~

They carried on, and made their debut. It was successful, if not an overwhelming hit. It still paid enough money to make their rent so they didn't have to dip into their reserve funds. Best of all, they had been seen by a large number of people, so their presence wouldn't be questioned.

With that success it was not difficult to secure employment at various locations, and even hire out individuals for backup in other music groups.

The time came, however, when they received an invitation to perform at the Deja Blue.

In keeping with Frost economy, the lounge was more of a sprawl. All of the furniture was cyan colored, but the lighting was the standard found throughout the galaxy. A few spotlights highlight the stage to one side, an electronic management board ensconced in a tastefully hidden nook.

Shepard tuned up with the rest of the band. He wasn't using his beloved wooden violin, that would have stood out. Instead he was using a polymer construction that probably hadn't originated anywhere close to where its elder kinsmen had been born. Its strings hummed as they tightened. Shepard kept his ear to the fiddle, but his eyes on the audience. All musicians watched their instruments, people watched _them_. That was the point of dancing. People who dance had to keep moving, twisting their heads around, watching in every direction.

Micha had full regalia this time, a flamenco outfit that would have functioned n a Venezuelan competition. More importantly, she knew _how_ to wear it, twisting at the right moment so the fabric would swish in one direction while she would be turning the opposite way.

Since the lights were run by the musicians, Karl was able to adjust the focus of the spotlights, rendering Shepards head in shadow. That made him able to watch the audience, even when playing.

During their third set, a small red light winked on Shepards booster. Casually, he glanced around the room. Over on the far wall, a quarian and two asari were watching the performance. The asari looked semi-bored, while the quarian looked interested. His body language also looked…scared. Yes, definitely nervous. But why? Quarians had a…reputation…that was true, but this was Alliance space. None of the Council races were predominantly present, and those that were present usually respected Alliance authority.

Shepard shifted a little, moving the key up. The dance they were playing was fortunately a signal piece, one that had certain tones, keys and arpeggios built in for discreet communication.

Over on the sound stage, Karl heard the confirmation shift. Moving a few keys, he bathed the stage in a slowly increasing luminary palette. Arvid, in his "guard" position near the back faded into the crowd while Micha increased her tempo. The band adjusted, sending confirmation back to Shepard that all who needed it, had received the message.

Now all they had to do was wait for results.

~o~O~o~

Tension built as they waited. Their set ended, and they put away their instruments for the break. Karl kept one of the cases close by, as they waited for Arvid to return.

He didn't. People milled through the lounge, drinking and talking while canned music circulated overhead, the next band started coming in to gauge the audience before they started up, but Arvid was conspicuously inconspicuous.

They started their last set for the night. The regular musicians knew something was up, but they were professionals and kept playing as they always had. The other kind of professionals followed the lead of the musicians and maintained cover. Shepard, Karl and Micha were, perhaps not quite as musically proficient as their counterparts, but had enough skill for the circumstances.

The two asari and the quarian at the back of the room had left. One of the asari had returned, but with a salarian this time. Both were looking highly entertained by the band, so far as Shepard could read their alien physiology. That meant that they knew something was up… probably Arvid had been observed. Most humans of that size didn't move quietly…still…Arvid was an N7 graduate. He knew better than 99% of the Alliance population how to blend.

The band wailed into its final crescendo, allowing Micha to take the final steps/castanet claps, and curtsy. The audience was mildly appreciative, with both applause and tips. The band broke up as the next group of performers started their setup.

Micha hooked her arm through Shepards elbow. Startled he jerked slightly, then fell into character. He muttered through his teeth, "And what exactly are you doing?"

Micha looked smug. "Me? Strolling around with a cute human. You don't think that _they'd_ believe someone as gorgeous as myself would be with a klutz, would you?"

The sound of gritting teeth emanated from somewhere above her to the left. Shepard looked, however as if he were grinning.

"What's with you and having a good time?" Micha asked irritably. "You'd think I'd invited you to date a batarian or something."

That got a reaction. His arm tensed like a steel cable in her grasp.

"You have something against batarians?" she asked curiously. "I mean, aside from their whole slave trader mentality?"

Shepard grunted. "Batarians have always been gunning for me. Whenever I meet one of their gangs, they always try to take me down. Hard."

Micha shrugged. "Well, you are usually not in a position to initiate a tea party." Shepard shook his head.

"I mean whenever a batarian sees me, he generally goes for his gun."

"Isn't that a bit of an exaggeration?" Micha asked.

Shepard waved at a friendly woman on the far side of the lounge. "Not in this case."

"What happened?"

"I lived."

"Hey you two!"

Shepard held his hand up to his ear. "Yes? What is it Karl?"

"I've got a buzzing emergency signal from Arvid. He's in trouble."

Micha and Shepard shared a look. "Let's get to it."

~o~O~o~

Frost had a limited area to search. It was a decent sized colony, but a fairly small area in which to get lost, particularly when one factored in the duration possible for distance covered. Unless Arvid had been kidnapped, he had to be relatively close to the Frost service sector.

The trio split up. Karl took the west end, Micha the middle and Shepard the east. Micha had traded in her civvies for her commando leathers while Shepard and Karl kept to their non-combat gear, hoping to maintain a low profile.

Civilians walked everywhere, a soldiers nightmare. Civilians tended to do stupid things when under fire, like running at the gun, or worse, trying to help.

Shepard kept an eye on his omni-tool. The signal seemed to grow weaker as he headed east. He varied his eastward trek heading a bit north, then south. The signal stayed weak, and got more so.

"He's not over here." Shepard reported. "Heading west now."

A double click responded in his ear. Silence came from the other responder. "Micha? Karl?" Shepard started jogging.

The comm clicked. "Karl here, I don't see anything. Signal is weak, growing stronger as I go east."

"Micha's last position shows as being by that converted warehouse, a quarter-mile east of the Deja Blue."

"Acknowledged. Loaded for bear. Shepard! I got them! Three targets, biotic and—" static broke the channel.

"Karl? Karl!" Shepard fired a location ping through their shared network. Karl showed as being near the same spot Micha disappeared.

Shepard instantly broke into a swift jog, but pulled up as he thought of something. Karl and Arvid had been taken without their full gear. Going stealth wasn't working. It was time for a full assault, N7 style.

~o~O~o~

There was an Alliance military outpost on Frost. It was equipped with the standard minimalism mentality. It simply wasn't efficient to equip all colonies with an armed military; the efficiency lay in giving a colony enough hardware to hold off an attack until the main Alliance body could ride in to the rescue. That's where the fleets spent most of their time, by the Mass Relays, waiting for orders.

Shepard made sure to stride into the office, which seemed to be staffed by a single startled looking ensign.

"I need a full loadout for an extraction, ASAP!" he barked.

The ensign pulled out a clipboard. "Well, sir, if you would just fill out an approval request form, I can send it up to the Commander. It will only take a few minutes."

Shepard took one step forward, towering over the ensign. "I am Lieutenant-Commander Shepard, Alliance N6 operative. I am here on a classified mission."

The ensign made an uncharacteristically suicidal move. "There may be some difficulty sir. I have you listed as a Lieutenant-Commander, but I have no registered operations-"

His voice cut out when Shepard reached across the table, grabbing the ensigns' collar. "I will be clear." Shepard growled. "I am here on an undercover operation. I am here on an emergency to arm up. You are in my way." He lifted the ensign off his seat. "Either help me, or get out of my way."

The ensign swallowed hard. "Sir, yes sit. Armory is over there, unlocking it now, sir!"

Shepard eased the ensign back into his chair. "Thank you."

The ensign watched Shepard cross the room in two steps and vanish through the security door. This was going to cause a lot of reports.

The armory was small, but complete. It had an armor adjustment table, so Shepard was able to refit a standard set to his size fairly quickly. Weapons lined the walls, maintained by the attentions of dutiful sergeants and distracted soldiers on detention.

Shepard quickly took the best he could find, and carried them to the weapons table. The sniper rifle, a Naginta model X, received a disruptor rounds mod, with a pair of super-conductive attachments. Each shot had to hit, but at this point, missing was a lower probability than the chance of shields being present.

The pistol, a Raikou VIII received an Incendiary ammo mod, with a cooldown mod and a rangefinder.

An Armageddon IX shotgun was given explosive rounds, and more cooldown modifications to the heat sink; Karl used shotguns excessively; if he were disarmed (more than likely) he would need the hardware.

Finally, for Arvid, Shepard selected a Hurricane model X assault rifle. Given Arvids tastes, Shepard modified the rifle with armor-piercing rounds, a scram rail and a heat sink.

After thinking a moment, Shepard took a second pistol for Micha, modified it, and strapped it to one leg. Alliance armor had mag-clips for only four weapons, after all.

A final check, addition of grenades, and Shepard was ready.

The ensign was ready with another form for Shepard to sign. "If you would please sign here…" he began.

Shepard turned. The form was a checkout registry, already filled out with most of the information. He sighed. "All right, but you have to fill out the weapons data. I have to get rolling."

The ensign nodded meekly. "Yes sir, good luck sir."

In a flash the paperwork landed on the desk and Shepard was out the door.

~o~O~o~

Shepard crouched behind a pair of boxes. The converted warehouse was just ahead, semi-distant from the nearest structures, which made his job both easier and harder. In any case, he liked it better this way. The more isolated the location, the less he had to worry about friendly fire. If there were no possibility of allies being in the warehouse, he'd just call in an airstrike.

Three guards lounged around the buildings entrance. They had civilian garb, but a squint through the scope showed bulges in familiar locations. Plus, they seemed reluctant to leave particularly obscuring locations….

Shepard took another look around, using the rangefinder on his pistol to get an accurate idea. No one else seemed to be around, but surveillance systems seemed to be everywhere.

Two minutes to plan, one minute to prepare, and Shepard was ready.

He started with a hack, scrambling the surveillance systems to a static image. Someone would catch on, but he'd be through by then. Next, Shepard sabotaged the communicators the three undoubtedly had.

Shepard used the shadows to sneak down to the warehouse wall, then crept under the cameras he hadn't hacked to reach the rearmost guard. With a single fluid move, he got his arm around the man's lower face and pinned his arms, pulling him back. Just before the man thought of it, he pinned his legs as well with one of his own. Thirty seconds later, the man was unconscious. Shepard repeated the process on the second man, then the third. The third man was suspicious, however, turning as Shepard approached.

"What's going—!" Shepard pulled out a knife and sliced through an artery, then followed up with an elbow-strike on the doubled-over form. The man was unconscious before he hit the ground.

Shepard administered a quick shot of medigel (more witnesses, more evidence) and propped up the men in their old positions. Zip ties secured their immobility, should they awaken.

Quickly, Shepard sliced the access code from their omni-tools and entered the warehouse. The doors slid open, near noiselessly.

Inside was a ledge he could hide underneath, and another door. Lockers lined the walls, one or two open to a prying meddler. _Heh, free money_. Shepard thought. _Perks of the job._

Beyond the grey flooring stood the second door. Shepard opened it with little trouble and peered inside, pistol first.

It had the standard layout of a pre-fab warehouse, stairs on the left with doors on the back for office space or special unit storage. Various large objects were scattered around the floor, providing cover for an enterprising assailant.

Shepards omni-tool buzzed on his wrist. The locator signal was coming from the back, just beyond the doorframe. Of course.

The HUD showed about a half-dozen armed individuals within the warehouse, but the range only extended about fifty feet. Shepard allowed himself thirty seconds to scan the room, searching for good hiding spots, choke points, potential hazards.

One of the dots was moving closer to him. Shepard unshipped his sniper rifle; in here it was like shooting fish in a barrel, but it was a sure kill.

A guard stepped out from behind a cargo container and spotted Shepard. His mouth opened to shout the alarm, but the thunder of a rifle drowned out what he had to say.

The HUD showed enemies everywhere converging on Shepards location. Quickly, he deployed a tech mine and the omni-tool's minifacturing engine began creating more.

The first guard on site hit the tech mine, overloading his weapons. He tried firing his shotgun, but all he got was a repeated beeping warning. And a bullet to the face.

Shepard deployed a free-standing sabotage mine, the omnitool dedicated another minifacturing unit to create another for him.

Two guards came around the corner at the same time. One triggered the mine, letting the little data repository make a quick-fix alteration to their guns firmware. Before the onboard repair-protocols could fix the problem, the two guards fired. The heat, which ordinarily was flushed through the heat-sink off to one side, was shunted back along the barrel into their faces.

Shepard quick-drew his pistol and finished them off. Before the next ssailant could round the corner, he ran in a crouch farther into the warehouse. His HUD was showing more guards coming from the storage offices in back, moving forward would push their momentum back on themselves.

A shotgun boomed from one side, peppering the side of a container next to Shepard. He ducked off to the right, moving farther back. The omni-tool finished with the next tech mine and he sidearmed it into the side of another crate. A short run, and he was able to dive into the lower office, tossing a grenade across the room.

Under cover of the explosion of the grenade the speed of his movement and the tech mine fouling up everyone's HUD, he was able to shut the door with none the wiser.

Inside the room was Arvid, unconscious on the floor in the back under a desk.

Shepard heaved the desk off of Arvid and started checking his vitals. All were strong, but a nasty bruise indicated future medication needs. For now, Shepard smeared a medi-gel pellet over the spot and sprinkled a little water over Arvids face.

Arvid woke up with all the cold fury of a professional assassin. Silently he caught Shepard by the throat, strangling him half to death before realizing whom was there.

"Sorry Shepard, didn't see you there."

Shepard made a depreciating choking noise waving off the apology.

Arvid shook his head a little, the focus coming back. Then he spotted the assault rifle on Shepards back. "That for me? You shouldn't have!"

'Don't worry, I'll be putting you in front." Shepard mumbled. "Where's your omni-tool?"

Arvids face clouded with anger. "They jammed it. Hit it with an EMP round, haven't been able to get it started. Got caught fiddling with it, got clouted with some biotic bi-"

A fusillade hit the door, cutting him off.

Shepard tossed him the assault rifle. "Take cover, and don't get hit. I took down a few, salvage the gear when you can. Give me a little cover fire when you can."

The husky Russian nodded, priming the rifle hungrily.

The door hissed open, letting in a hail of fire.

Shepard tossed his next sabotage mine, and followed it with another tech mine. A grenade followed that, creating a rolling explosion. He rolled out the door, ducked behind a crate and fired rapidly with his pistol.

Arvid stood next to the door and switched to full automatic. When the fire seemed to die down around him, he stuck the muzzle of his weapon and held down the trigger, bellowing incoherently.

"Yaaaaaaaagggggggg!Die little men!"

Shepard barely ducked in time to avoid a veritable shower of rounds. Several of the other combatants, however, were taken completely by surprise, draining their shields.

Quickly, Shepard swapped back to his rifle and rapidly overclocked the heat sink, bringing down two before it started resetting. Shots started back his way, forcing him back into cover, but this was good. He'd almost reached the passage upwards.

Arvid covered Shepard as he ran for the ramp. When Shepard paused to toss more toys, Arvid was able to rush out and slide by a dead merc. Quickly, he rifled through the mercs possessions and confiscated an ammo belt, an omni-tool and the capacitor for a shield generator. He'd learned a trick back in N7 school for setting up a temporary field shield.

Shepard found a biotic at the top of the ramp, and a canny one as well. She flung a warping effect at him, forcing him back behind the corner. He returned fire with a tech mine, not that it specifically targeted her abilities. However, it did distract her, letting him get off a few rounds to drain her barriers a bit. She launched another assault on him, but he gauged his shields could take it. They could, although the suit flexed with the pressure, keeping him from actually shooting back. As soon as he could, he launched a sabotage unit, and dropped the pistol in favor of the sniper rifle.

Dimly from outside the hall, he could hear Arvid yelling at "metal men" and generally making a Grade A nuisance of himself. _That fellow has the constitution of a bull_. He thought. Then the asari popped back into view, triggering his mine. One shot, and she was missing the majority of her frontal lobe. And the majority of her cerebellum equivalent actually. And...pretty much everything in-between.

Charging the last few feet, Shepard hit the ground rolling, sweeping the hall at the top of the stairs. No one was in sight, so he took a moment to snipe from his new perch, evening the playing field for his friend downstairs.

Resuming his advance, he opened the last door. Micha and Karl were present, but so where a pair of asari, a quarian and a salarian. The salarian had a pistol held to Karls head, and the quarian had a similar position on Micha.

The asari both had a pistol and a fist raised. Dark energy swirled around their fists with purple tinted reflections.

Shepard still held his rifle up, staring at the asari. One of them was the ringleader, he was certain of it. Salarians were far too vigilant in monitoring their own ranks to allow something like this reach Alliance space. However, the STG was supposedly unable to apprehend this group of criminals…maybe the salarian was the leader….

"Drop it."

The sound came from one of the asari.

Shepard cocked an eyebrow. "Or else what?"

One of the asari gestured her pistol at the two prisoners. "One guess."

Shepard kept his rifle moving steadily between the targets. "That assumes I care about them more than I care about killing you."

The other asari shrugged. "In the end, it doesn't matter. We outgun you, and have the high ground."

Shepard gave her a grin that would have looked at home on a Transylvanian resident. "So that means I get one shot. Which of you wants it?"

The quarian looked around. "Maybe we should…." The salarian silenced him with a glare.

"You should listen to your suited friend." Shepard said. "I already sent the signal. You can't leave the colony, and if you try leaving the building…well, I rigged the door with enough explosives to shred half the city. And set it to my vitals signature."

The salarian looked impressed. "Quick thinking, human. Didn't think you had it in you. Saw your performance. Shifting. Flourishes. Inefficient. Typical of a lesser mind. Underestimated you."

"Shut up!" the darker blue asari spat. "We got problems!"

"Not really." Shepard murmured. "What you have here is an opportunity."

"Opportunity?" asked the lighter asari. "What are you talking about?"

"All I'm after is what you stole. If I recover that data but miss the slicers…I'm sure that the docking authority can't handle all the traffic it would receive after a shootout this big."

The quarian looked around again. "Tiva, I think maybe we should-"

"Shut it, suit rat!" the same asari fired a round into the floor by the quarian. "Talk again and I'll crack your suit and cough!"

Ice frosted over Shepard. "You stand down now, or I'll lay down the law, here and now." For a second, he wondered what thunder god had bellowed, then realized the group was staring at him.

For a second, nothing happened. Suddenly, the quarian spun and shot the salarian. Both asari whirled and fired. Shepard's rifle spat one high-speed round, shattering the darker asari's barriers. Then, he was upon the two, kicking and punching like a demon. One good blow with his knee made the dark purple asari fold like a cheap inflatable beach ball. The second asari spun back at him, launching a warping effect as her barriers deflected his assault.

Shepard slapped her arm upwards, sending the blast into the ceiling. He focused on disrupting her concentration. Tech mine to the face, full palm slap, elbow strike to the barrier, sabotage mine.

Another tech mine detonated on her shields, exploding far more brilliantly than any of Shepards own rounds. Without pausing, Shepard dropped his rifle and slapped open palms on both of the asari's ears. She screamed and fell, clutching her head. As she fell, she met Shepards rising foot, snapping her head back and into a desk.

The quarian had his hands in the air, his gun on the ground. The salarian lay groaning on the floor, a round through his shoulder.

Karl blinked at Shepard. "What took you so long?"

Shepard looked at the twin lights in the quarians helmet. "Who are you?"

The quarian swallowed nervously, although Shepard could only tell by the movement of the helmet. "My name is Jal'Kimon vas Qwib Qwib. I'm a tech specialist."

"And why are you here?" Shepard asked, keeping his pistol out.

"I answered an ad on the extaranet, asking for a quarian tech expert. I didn't know-"

Micha shook her arms over her head. "Um, nice to chat, but can you get us out of here?"

Shepard nodded at the quarian. "Go. I'll be clearing this area within ten minutes. You don't want to be here when I'm done."

The quarian seemed…astonished. "You're…letting me go?"

Shepard smirked. "No. I'm getting distracted freeing my comrades. Now if I had data to occupy my attention, that would make me even more distracted. Say, far too distracted to chase a suspect."

The quarian hastily made a few motions on his omni-tool. An optical drive formed on the minifacturing plant and dropped to the floor. "I will not forget this, you will not regret it."

Shepard nodded. "Whatever you try to accomplish, do _not_ find an asari freighter vessel in bay 237, and do _not_ tell the captain I gave my recommendation that she take a closer look for a new navigator."

Even through the tint of the helmet, the quarian gave the impression of slack-jawed astonishment. As Shepard moved past him to release his friends, he jerked. Saluting, he uttered, "Kellah'Selai" and ran for the door.

Shepard undid the restraints from Karls ankles, pausing to touch his helmet. "Arvid, runner coming your way. Let him go, may be profitable."

A double click returned.

Micha struggled free of her bonds. "Why did you let him go? He could have helped us!"

Shepard held up the dropped OSD. "He did. No need to take out all of the bad guys when some of them may be just facing challenging situations. Besides, he might come in helpful later."

Arvid came pounding up the stairs. "Hey, Shepard! We got a horde incoming, looks like mercs!"

Shepard tossed out the weapons he'd brought. "Saddle up, move 'em out."

Karl grinned with the feel of a fully modified shotgun in his hands. "Lock n' load."

Micha looked at the two of them in bewilderment. "Saddle…what? Lock where?"

Rolling his eyes, Arvid added, "Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!"

"WAIT!" Micha screamed, "What about those explosives you put on the door?"

Shepard shrugged. "What explosives?"

~o~O~o~

On their own, any one of the three N7 operatives could have handled the attacking mercenaries. Micha could have handled them on her own as an asari commando. The four of them together were a storm of annihilation, something the galaxy wouldn't see again for almost another seven years.

All of the captured individuals had recovered ample supplies to regain their full combat capacity. Arvid fired concussive rounds and a constant stream of death at any threat, while Karl destroyed anything wearing armor with fiery bursts of carnage.

Enemies died, even behind cover, thanks to Shepards long-range capability. His shots destroyed shields, devastating armored targets, allowing the others to shred what was left.

Micha, however, showed what centuries of filed application could achieve. Her biotic attacks warped reality wherever she aimed, altering gravity beneath her enemies feet or causing their very armor to crush inwards on itself. Whatever she struck became a magnet of destruction, either for one of her allies or for further vengeance by herself.

The group held their position, not deigning to advance for nearly fifteen minutes before sounds of support came. Farther down the field, the new Alliance Mako tanks came roaring over the terrain spitting death from their turrets. Their drivers used the onboard rockets to add another dimension to their maneuverability, completely bypassing obstacles at times.

Shepard lowered his rifle, a bit blown by all the activity. Still, it was good to have succeeded. Another mission under his belt, another few notches on the rifle barrel.

~o~O~o~

After the dust settled, Shepard was able to retire to the guest quarters on the _Kilimanjaro_.It was a simple affair, nothing like the Ambassador suite, but it was clean, it had a fresh change of clothes and a sonic shower. That last made the whole thing perfect, if you remembered your earplugs. When Shepard came out of the shower, he spotted a message n the desk. It read simply: "Congratulations, N7." It included a blank N7 registration form, already signed by one Captain Anderson.

Shepard lost no time finding Anderson, finally tracking him down in the officers quarters.

"Did you do this?" he demanded, holding out the paper.

Anderson had been reading through paperwork. At the outburst, he quickly collapsed some screens.

"Son, all I did was sign the paperwork. You did all the work downstairs."

Shepard waved it off. "All I did was clear some mooks and get some data. This…this is something they reserve for the ultimate of the elite!"

"Which you proved by going up against an unknown enemy, on your own, with allies held hostage and nobody to help you." Anderson finished. "You got the goal, made contact with a possible ally, captured intelligence and above all, got home with all of your men alive. You did good son." The captain shifted a screen. "The Asari government was very grateful for our assistance. They have forwarded the results of our investigation to the Council, and the STG is taking a look at the data recovered."

Shepard awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "Um, that makes it sound a lot better than it went…."

Anderson smiled understandingly. "That's how it goes Shepard. Sometimes you can do no right. Other times you can do no wrong. Either case requires you adjust to the circumstances and enjoy what you can. In this case," he gestured at the paper still in Shepards hand. "Being able to enjoy your new status as an N7 operative is something I can help with."

Shepard looked nervous. "Sir?"

"Relax, Shepard. That's an order." Anderson laughed. "I've arranged for you to have a month of downtime soon. Nothing too extravagant, just some time on Elysium."

"Elysium, sir?"

"Yeah." Anderson smiled at a memory. "Human colony, quiet place, a few million inhabitants. Supposed to be a paradise for humanity. Good folks, good land. A man could retire there and be happy."

Shepard cleared his throat. "Are we still talking about me, sir?"

The door chime went off. Anderson looked a little surprised…and relieved.

"Come in."

Lieutenant Micha stepped in the door and saluted. "Good morning captain."

Anderson stood up and returned the salute. "Good morning lieutenant. What can I do for you this fine afternoon?"

Micha smiled at Shepard. "I'm just here to pick up Shepard for his instructional session."

A puzzled look came over Anderson's face. "You do realize he has a three day furlough, as of today?"

Micha nodded, still grinning. "As do I sir. I promised to teach him modern dancing, in return for his help on the more esoteric human dances."

Anderson kept his face as granite. "Carry on then."

Shepard stood up to leave. "If you tell anyone, Anderson, so help me…."

The captain didn't change expression. "What, divulge that the great L-C Shepard knows more dance moves than an asari? Or maybe that he can actually relax when he is off mission?" He winked. "You wound me. See you in three days, then I'll see you on that boat to Elysium even if I have to order five N7 operatives to strap you down to an Elcor."

Shepard had to fight down a smirk. "Uh, yes sir. If you put it that way. Sir."


	9. A Brief on Elysium

**Welcome to Elysium!**

Elysium, human colony of the Skyllian Verge, is in the Armstrong Nebulae. The Skyllian Verge itself is located between Alliance space proper, and the territory claimed by the Batarian Hegemony. The Hegemony petitioned the Council to declare the area a place of "batarian interest," but lost when the Alliance was awarded colony rights. This greatly upset the batarians, whom had few allies in Council space (due to their illegal bombardment of a salarian colony and strong-armed annexation of an asari colony). Humanity and the Skyllian Verge were the last of a long series of events leading to the departure of the batarians from the Citadel. After being refused again, the Batarian Hegemony withdrew their embassy from the Citadel, severed both political and economic ties,and became in effect, a rogue state. Council representatives have assured the Alliance that the Hegemony will not be a problem for colonization purposes.

Since that time, however, the outer regions of the Skyllian Verge have become a place for batarian raiders and slavers. Most of the Verge has had to arm itself. All travelers are advised to take precautions, and should be aware that there is a low success rate for recovery attempts. Proceed outside the indicated safe zones at your own risk.

Elysium, however, serves as the Alliance capital for the Skyllian Verge. It is placed conveniently near multiple primary Mass Relays and several Secondary relays. Five years after its founding, Elysium had a population of several million inhabitants. By 2176, a full half of the population was non-human, encouraging increased protection for this multi-cultural center of Alliance expansion. Heavy security precautions have ensured a peaceful existence for the colony, despite the problems in the other regions of the nebula.

Should you decide to visit Elysium on your vacation, don't bother bringing recreational gear; the colony is fully prepared for all your relaxation needs. If you come on business, Elysium has fully dedicated business sectors designed for efficient data transfers, secure financial exchanges and confidential guarantees. Whatever you require will be available for reasonable prices. That is a promise.

The Verge is open for business!


	10. The Blitz, part I

_Authors Note: Well, here we are, the final chapter! I never expected to go this long with the story, or get so many results! Seriously, I was expecting maybe 3-4 reviews, and maybe two favorites. Well, this has officially gone far beyond my expectations and has made me a very happy writer. So much so, that I've had to cut this chapter in half, and let the second half be loaded a little later. I mean, I like a nice long chapter, but this was getting way longer than necessary. So, I chopped it in half, sorry if it seems a little abrupt._

_The second chapter in The Blitz will be coming soon, I am nearly done with it. Any suggestions, comments, reviews or proposals would be welcome. Thank all of you for reading, and please tip your waitress! Without further ado..._

* * *

Ground Zero

_Elysium, 2176_

Elysium is one of the best places in the galaxy for a vacation, Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard agreed wholeheartedly.

The N7 operative was in full relaxation mode. Swimming trunks, cold beverage, lounge chair by the water, existence could not get any more laid back. Nearby, a mini-band performed, not the same one he'd performed with on a mission a few months back. That band had gone on its way, having served its purpose, and more importantly, gotten its fee plus hazard pay.

A few feet beyond Shepard, a salarian was handily defeating another human in a friendly swimming match. Shepard had watched the two competing back and forth all day, with predictable results. Whenever the match was strength, the human won. Whenever the competition became more athletic, the salarian won. It was close sometimes, human endurance barely defeating salarian flexibility (and stride length) in a 5k, but it seemed the two never stopped.

Which was driving Shepard crazy.

Captain Anderson had granted the operative a full month off, the first two weeks of which he was _required_ to do nothing exerting, other than the usual workout routines. Anderson had even confiscated his beloved Volkov VIII, preventing target practice. If Shepard even left the premises of the resort, Anderson had promised a full remedial course in diplomatic relations with the Hanar.

So, Shepard relaxed, and watched. And thought of various ways he could send a nasty virus to the good captains' omni-tool. Something that made all audio effects sound like polka music.

He sighed and got up. A waiter instantly took his nearly-full glass and proffered a new one. Shepard waved his hand and the waiter faded back, almost as if he'd had stealth training.

Shepard would have never admitted it, but he was an impressive sight. He was bronzed from nearly two weeks of sunshine, and his enforced rest period had allowed a significant amount of muscle definition shape his physique. Unfortunately, much of that muscle was marred with scars from battles over the years. This led to there being somewhat more of a problem moving around than he'd thought. Some months ago, shortly after his Jhodenheim mission, he'd been chosen as the primary "face" of the Alliance military. Having his image posted over every recruitment office in Alliance space, and being the subject of more than a few interviews, tended to make blending …difficult. Lieutenant Micha, the asari commando he'd worked with on his final qualifying N7 mission had even written to tell him she'd gained some fame from having associated with the "famous Shepard." She also had begun a practice, teaching "human" dances. Go figure.

So it was with the same technique he'd use on the battlefield that he managed to make it to his private room, unlisted of course. That was the only fun part of this vacation, blending in with the populace. He'd move a towel over his left shoulder, then cover his head as if he were drying his hair. A little sidestep, checking his reflection in a window changed his profile when a gaggle of people approached. A fake sneeze, two stumbles and a mildly bewildered expression later, and he made it to his room. Well, rooms. Against his wishes, he'd been given more of a suite than a room. A kitchen (in case he ever felt like cooking for himself), a bedroom (with an extra-large nano-fiber massage mattress), and a living room (more chairs than a dairy herd had legs) created an admittedly pleasing, yet very posh, dwelling.

The screen on the wall turned itself on when Shepard walked into the room. It was automatically set to the local weather station, a habit he'd grown up with. Better to know what the weather will bring first, then make plans.

That evening, he decided to make his own supper. There had been many invitations, of course, but there Anderson had saved him with his "order" to stay inside the resort. That hadn't stopped some foolhardy individuals from scouring the outside area (the room was an inside one, thankfully) with the local paparazzi, but the hotel staff were used to it. Apparently, this was indeed a high-level resort; non-human celebrities showed up on a semi-frequent basis.

A buzzing tone reached Shepards ears. His omni-tool was going off, a call incoming.

Shepard put down the knife he was using and flicked on the receptor. Karls' face appeared, grainy in texture.

"Shepard! Thank God I've got you! I'm on assignment, can't talk…have to warn you….pirate attack…jamming ship…."

The signal faded in and out. That was very odd. The resort was careful to reserve a large amount of bandwidth for its clients, no one had higher clearance except the military, the Council and Spectres. So…unless there was a gamer convention launching another DOS attack on a recreation area….

Before that thought finished Shepard found himself at his closet, donning his best gear. No armor or weapons, blast Anderson! But he had to warn the officials. Without armor.

Quick-dressing was a hobby at which any serviceman quickly became adept. Within thirty seconds Shepard had a decent pair of slacks, a pair of hiking shoes and a sleeveless muscle shirt, dog tags dangling outside. He stopped another second and tried putting through a call to Alliance command; N7 graduates had that privilege after all. The result had him grimace.

Faster than before, Shepard jogged down the hall to the stairs; elevators were too slow. He put in a call to the local authorities and began working up the ranks. This could get ugly.

~o~O~o~

_0200 hours_

"There hasn't been any problem reported to me, it's probably just a solar flare on the Primary Mass Relay to Sidon. You'll get your call in a few minutes I'm sure."

Shepard was in the office of the highest authority available this time of night, the governors second in command. He was a short fellow, balding with traces of worry lines beginning to form by his eyes.

"Why haven't you received any priority messages then? Why is the entire system _blank_ for incoming traffic?' Shepard demanded. He felt underdressed for the occasion, no armor and no uniform, but this was _important_.

The major domo had a self-satisfied look on his face. "Just because we're the largest colony in the Verge doesn't mean we get priority messages all the time. We're having a quiet round, that's all. The screens went blank only a few minutes ago anyway, so why worry?"

Shepard let the other man's words roll around his head a minute. Then he stood and leaned both hands on the desk. "Then you are a fool." He growled. "I told you I tried to contact Alliance Command. I _am_ military, you clueless dolt! More than that, I am an N7 operative, rated at the highest levels of our military's elite. When I send an emergency message, that means an EMERGENCY is OCCURING!" He roared the last word out with enough venom to startle the cringing second-in-command.

"But you knew. You knew far more than you just told me."

The man's eyes grew wide.

"You _knew_ the ladar was down, you _knew_ there was a problem with the communications. You knew it before I came in, and I knew it as it happened. That means you knew before it happened. You had _warning_."

The major domo moved his hand slightly under the desk. Shepard had a half-second to react before two batarians burst out of a side door bearing something that definitely wasn't a house-warming gift.

All N7 candidates had to take a course on tactics, even the ancient writings. According to General Von Clausewitz's _On War_ (written during the 1800s), one of the advantages for being the defending party was that an attacking party had to adjust to the terrain constantly. The defender had a static area, and so could react faster, if prepared.

Shepard used that principle to shoulder-charge the nearer batarian before the four-eyed freak could focus. He hit with a satisfying crunching sound, forcing a pained gasp from the target. The other batarian was twisting, aiming his shotgun at Shepard, but was too late to beat his comrades pistol, still in his grip but under Shepards control, firing.

Shepard freed the pistol and carefully double tapped both of the batarians. Then he walked over to the desk, spun a chair around and sat, facing the shaking manager.

"Do you know earth history?" Shepard asked. Without waiting for a response he continued. "During the early stages of World War Two, the British had an idea. They couldn't directly aid their allies with armies, they weren't ready for war. So they trained an elite force of _commandos_. They were ordinary people, asked to do extraordinary things. But before they were able to do them, they had to sit through a questionnaire session. I'll ask you one of their questions."

"Can you walk up behind a man, stab a knife into his back, _and_ _twist it?_"

The managers breathing grew faster.

Shepard twirled a knife he'd liberated from one of the corpses. "It's an interesting question because an honest reply can tell you so very much about the subject. On the one hand, it could reveal a vicious killer, on the other, it could mean someone is incapable of making the hard choice at the right time."

The blade spun hypnotically.

"So what I see here, is someone who knew ahead of time about the jamming, and did nothing. This person also had batarians ready to kill on his command. And we're in the Skyllian Verge."

More silence. Then….

"You can't prove anything." The mans confidence was coming back.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The manager nodded emphatically his breathing slowing. "You came here looking for help. No one can prove those brutes were here under my command."

Shepard let the knife twirl a few more times before flicking it into the solid oak desk. "Maybe I found the governors body."

The manager laughed. "Don't try that on me. I made sure the governor is just sleeping off a very _happy_ evening."

"Arranged by you." Shepard nodded. "Clever."

'Yeah, too clever to get done in by letting you trick a confession out of me. I've had an emp block on this room since you came in."

Shepard nodded approvingly. "Yet, you might be so sharp you cut yourself." He leaned over the desk, making sure he had his most intimidating grin, to whisper: "Nobody stabs me in the back, got it?"

The other man dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Look, I know you Alliance military types. So long as you get your funding you don't care what goes on out in the colonies. How about we cut a deal?"

If the businessman had been paying attention, he would have seen Shepards' face flicker between outrage and amusement. "Let's say I'm willing to listen."

The second-in-command settled in a comfortable position. "I'll give you a cut of the profits, and an FTL capable shuttle offworld before the slaver get here. You could do some serious harm to the merchandise, and I don't want to see that happen."

Shepard gave the man one long stare. "You know something else about that story I told? I've done it. I've gone cold enough to sneak up on a man and twist a knife in his back. And you know what? He was a slaver."

His prey sagged a little.

He raised his voice, "Officers, you may come in now."

Two uniformed men entered through the same door Shepard had a few minutes ago, opposite of the batarians. They had expressions of disgust on their faces, somewhat akin to as if they'd discovered a small disease-ridden rodent in their bed. "We heard everything sir. You want us to put him under arrest?"

Shepard weighed the pistol in his hand casually. "As a military officer, I am not allowed to give orders to civilians, except under martial law. However, I _suggest_ you take this scum and lock him in a secure location…" a grin of pure malice came over his face, "at the city walls. If he survives what comes next, he goes on trial."

One of the officers had a similar look of malicious pleasure on his face. "Understood sir. And sir? I had relatives on Mindoir."

Shepard nodded once, from one professional to another. "At your discretion, officers."

~o~O~o~

_0600 hours_

"What kind of dogs do we have in the city?" Shepard asked.

The question seemed to throw off the police chief, Malcolm Harvey. "Wha-at? Dogs? We don't have time to get attack dogs, sir?"

"Not just attack dogs," Shepard explained. "I want all the dogs we can get. They all have a better sense of smell than you or I do, and they can't be shut down by emp's. Get as many dogs on the perimeter as possible, and _watch_ them for any sign of odd behavior."

Shepard turned before the police chief could acknowledge the order. "Do we have any word from Admiral Grissom?"

A gloomy head shook. "We don't have communication out to his place, and he's too far to reach in time, even with a shuttle."

"Too bad. We could have used him here. Never mind, what's the status on communications?"

A fresh faced youngster piped up. "Stella, with Elysium Information News Net. We still don't have outgoing messages, but we do have one incoming message for you!"

Shepard pushed outside the knot of people he'd become surrounded by, "Everyone, keep going. Get weapons from that Haribon warehouse and check on those gunships. We have less than seven hours before those monsters get here and I want a warm welcome ready for 'em!"

The young woman held out an omni-tool when he got beyond the edge of the crowd. An unknown officers face faded in and out of coherence. "Lieutenant-Commander…this….directly from…are hereby ordered to fall back….too few N7s…will lead counterattack…sending alert ASAP, but you nee…." The rest of the message was drowned out by static.

Shepard glanced up. The light was poor at this hour, but he could tell that the young lady had a look of trepidation in her eyes. The nearest eavesdroppers had the same expression. The best trained man on the planet, their best chance for survival, had just been ordered to abandon them.

Shepard winked at the youngster, then caught himself. _Youngster? She's gotta be 18 if she's a day. When did I get so old?_ Then out loud, "I'm sorry the message was so garbled, ma'am. I'm sure you did the best you could. At least we know there's reinforcements on the way."

The wave of relief was almost palpable, and that was just from the people next to him. Shepard knew the story would get around and grow in the telling. He disliked using himself as a role-model, but right now the people needed a morale booster.

"All right, now where's that fertilizer? I'm going to show you how to make a Bouncing Betty. They're illegal, but hey, so are slave grabs."

~o~O~o~

The colony had been designed as a single central location, unlike other colonies. This one had grown so fast in its early development that decentralization wasn't even considered until after it was too late. By then, everyone wanted to be near the popular commercial sections, and enough trade had flowed to make a single megacity feasible. Fortunately, it had been a requirement that all colonies in the Verge be equipped with defensive walls, akin to those used by the Romans in ages past. Not all of the predators on new colonies had two legs.

Farmers outside the city were hurrying as fast as they could to bring their flocks and harvests under cover, if they had already harvested. They would never have made it without a detachment of Kodiak shuttles sent out to expedite their retreat. Those that couldn't, or wouldn't make it to the city abandoned their homes, taking only the essential supplies to secure bunkers, plus whatever extras they could bring along. Animals and crops could be recovered, lives couldn't.

A surprisingly large cache of A-61 Mantis gunships were found stored in a Cord-Hislop Aerospace warehouse. What they were doing there wasn't included in the records, but Shepard "suggested" they be confiscated and refurbished. It was to his great fortune that a few local salarian were exceptionally skilled at repairing military grade hardware, and that most of the asari had some biotic capability for the front lines as well. Some of the lesser skilled asari took charge of inner-city organization, what they lacked in combat they more than made up in centuries of organizational experience. Part of the non-human population also consisted of turians, fortunately. All turians had at least the minimal in combat training and most had military experience. While it was a human colony, all of the non-humans considered it their home as well, or at least an investment worth defending.

The security already in place was the greatest help however. The personnel were trained for minor attacks, and with a little care and direction from the few professionals present, they'd do well in this situation. They were already trained in the usage of the defense cannon in place, which was fantastic. The cannon were hardwired to shielded power sources, and could deter gunship assaults and shuttle drops. However, Shepard privately thought it unlikely that the slavers would try something so destructive, they wanted soft easy salvage.

Shepard was putting his training and experience to good use, although he'd never thought to be defending something as large as a whole colony. _Thousands_ of volunteers had come up simply because of his reputation. _Hundreds of thousands_ were following his suggestions, and in turn commanding _millions_ more, making this the largest force he'd ever commanded...advised…more accurately. He didn't tell them that, however, pretending as if the whole event was nothing more than a minor, yet moving, footnote in his career.

One interesting find had been an Alliance arms depot. Shepard had been able to rearm himself in the best the Alliance had to offer, and had armed the best of the volunteers in similar hardware. An old Turian had volunteered to oversee calibrating their weapons and Shepard had let him, despite his misgivings. The aged Turian had worked so fast and accurately however, that Shepard silently resolved to never stop a Turian from working on weapons. It seemed to be an innate trait, they just _loved_ playing with weapons.

"Sir? Sir!"

Shepard turned to the latest interruption. "Yes? What is it?"

A young man in a camouflage print outfit saluted…sort of…. "Joseph Einrich, Elysium militia, 1st platoon, presenting the compliments of Captain Fayn Meyca. We're ready to deploy, sir."

Mentally, Shepard slapped himself. How could he have forgotten about militias? Mindoir had a militia of its own after all. It hadn't done much good back in the attack Shepard had lived through, but it had ensured far fewer slavers had returned to their ships. The last he'd heard, what militia members had managed to group together had killed something like a 5:1 ratio.

"What kind of numbers do you have, and may I speak with Captain Meyca?" he asked.

The young man gave another awkward salute. "I'll tell the Captain you want to see him as soon as possible, he can answer your questions." He at least had the decency to wait for Shepards return salute before running.

Immediately after that, an asari accosted Shepard. "Lieutenant?"

"Lieutenant-Commander, actually." He corrected politely. "What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

The asari looked…older than most of the asari he ran into. A _matron_ was it? She didn't look pudgy, whatever the name. "Shayna Y'nara, of Thessia. I have three centuries of commando experience, and three daughters here in Elysium nearly as skilled. Tell me what I can do."

Shepard stopped a moment. Asari commandos were few and far between, but each one carried enough expertise for a full squad. That made him think about judgement, and who could be in charge… "How good a shot are you? As a sniper I mean?"

The asari lifted her chin regally, "I was a sniper for the Armali Commandoes in my youth. I used the M-72 for preference."

"I'll see what can be found, for now, can you find a few vantage points? I want you to direct the snipers if you would be so kind."

The word "smile," would have been far too genteel a word for the look on the asaris' face. It would be more accurate to call it the satisfied, blood-thirsty grin of a shark.

"It would be my pleasure." She curtseyed and moved back, gesturing to a trio of much younger asari. The quartet scattered, gazing up at the heights intently.

~o~O~o~

_0800 hours_

Shepard managed to find several drivers amongst the populace for the half-dozen Makos scrounged from the companies' garages. They were veterans from the First Contact War, eager to lend their expertise to the preparations.

The aforementioned vehicles rumbled in the commons. The six-wheeled armored units made the earth shake as they rolled, heartening the populace beyond just those who could see. That was always part of the game, boost the morale of the populace while diminishing the enemy's.

Captain Meyca, a salarian, caught Shepard at the gate, frantically trying to coordinate the data on his omni-tool. "Lieutenant-Commander. Good to meet you, has martial law been declared?"

Shepard shook his head. "The governor is unconscious. His lieutenant drugged him just before the scramblers started up."

The captain held up his omni-tool. "I have a backup plan here, signed by the governor, to establish martial law if slavers attacked. Not quite as big as this one I think, though."

Shepard looked puzzled. "How did you get the authority to push that through the politics? I thought you were in charge of the militia?"

Meyca held up another document. "It's the Senate, actually. The plan was created some years ago, and given the authority of the governor about two months after that. PR move mostly. However, I just came from the Congress, and both the Senate and the House of Representatives agree you have the best qualifications for getting us out of this mess."

Shepard received the data burst. "You're giving that…to me?"

Captain Meyca saluted crisply. "You now have the entire city at your disposal, sir. Also, a technical upgrade for your omni-tool. Coordinates all available data for you. Orders?"

It took five seconds for Shepard to absorb the news. Before, he'd been leading by example, by giving suggestions on defense. Now…he could order whatever he wanted…to _millions_ of inhabitants.

"Your messenger, he's an engineer, right?" he asked.

"Yes, but he also has experience in technical tactical hacking." The captain responded.

Shepard shook his head sharply. "I want him to set up every loudspeaker, every subwoofer, and every DJ facing outwards on and above the walls."

"What?"

"Set them up with enough power to rattle the walls of Mr. Grissom himself, but keep the noise aimed above the level of the defenders."

No one could ever say the salarians were stupid. He caught on quickly. "Right. Confusion. Inability to use simple analogue scans to determine weak points."

"To a certain extent. They could use other things, but all we need to do is hold out for reinforcements. The rest of your men need to go outside the walls, dig in, fight a guerrilla warfare. Retreat to the walls when you can, probably in small three-man squads. That was the most effective in my experience."

A harsh wailing broke overhead, followed by the sonic booms of spacecraft entering atmosphere. Contrails from condensed moisture appeared far overhead.

"Belay that last," Shepard gestured skywards. "We're too late for that. Looks like they pushed up their timetable. Arm up and get to the walls, but stay under cover. Select your best scouts and harass the slavers if you can."

The activity in the city grew more frantic, people scurrying around like ants with their nest kicked. The Makos rumbled to covered sheds, mechanics moving to do repair work.

~o~O~o~

_0820 hours_

'Lieutenant-Commander! Sir!"

Civilians scattered to the sides of the road, clearing the path for a motorcycle purring up the center. Another civilian wearing the colors of a courier service was on the 'cycle, waving to gain the soldier's attention.

Shepard turned back. "Yes? I'm a little busy."

"We got two krogan that won't let us open a door in the armory, over in the Cord-Hislop main office."

Shepard suddenly became interested. "Krogan? Here?"

The courier patted the back of his seat. "Hop on, I'll take you there."

"Um…all right."

The ride back was fast, not as fast as shuttle perhaps, but it _felt _faster. Maybe it had something to do with how close the ground was, or how unprotected the rider was in his chair. The Cord-Hislop building was at the center of town and had one of the highest skyscrapers on Elysium.

Inside, two oversized krogan glowered at the militia volunteers present. Both sides bore their weapons with obvious aggression intent.

Shepard didn't bother trying to diffuse the tension. One of the militia members was an asari, diplomacy obviously wasn't working.

"What the hell is going on here?" Shepard bellowed. The krogan jerked to face him, aiming automatically at the loudest target.

Shepard knew he couldn't even _smell_ of fear, krogan were the ultimate in intimidation tactics, but only a few realized they had brains to match their brawn. He took angry steps closer, focusing on the nearer of the two lizard-skinned aliens.

"What do you mean hiding in here when there's slavers to kill? Did you two forget how to fight?"

These krogan were smarter than the average meatshields. Both cocked their shotguns, growling. The larger one took the role of spokesman. "We don't answer to you, human. We have our orders. No one gets through this door, no matter what."

That stymied Shepard for a second; but then he saw the militia slightly raising their weapons. The militia may have been trained, but the krogan had centuries of warfare experience, plus their own natural abilities.

Taking two long steps, Shepard moved between the krogan, seizing a shotgun by the barrel. It was the work of a moment to wrest control from the surprised alien. Shepard pointed the gun upwards and triggered a series of blasts, startling them further. Off balance opponents were easier to control.

"You couldn't protect a chunk of eezo from a quarian!" he roared in his best sergeant voice. "I'm in charge of this colony, not you, not your boss, and definitely not any coward of a manager!"

The larger, still armed, krogan growled louder and deeper. "We don't-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Shepard reared back, pulling his shoulders down, and slammed his helmet into the krogan's forehead-plate.

"I didn't ask for excuses, I told you to get out there! Move your asses or I'll fill them with lead!"

Grumbling, the two krogan stumped out the doors. The larger one paused, spinning a slit-pupil to focus on Shepard. "You got a quad. More than our boss anyway."

Shepard nodded politely. "Report to Captain Meyca, he'll show you the best spot for fighting."

One of the militiamen had opened the formerly blocked door. "Lieutenant!"

Shepard stepped through the opening…and…and…stopped. He just…stopped.

Inside lay weapons he hadn't seen outside the Alliance prototype shops. Especially…an M-89 Prototype Widowmaker, similar to the prototype he'd once used back in boot camp. Three of them. Plus a series of grenade launchers, of Terminus systems origins if he was correct. Rocket launchers. Crates of grenades.

"Sir?"

An entire stack of armor modifications; eyepieces. Greave additions. Ablative solutions in tightly packed containers.

"Sir?"

The storage room went farther back than it looked. Nearer to the back were more crates. Omni-gel, experimental med-gel. Omni-tool upgrades, was that a Savant X?

"SIR?"

Shepard snapped out of it.

"Find Shayna Y'Nara, get her two of those," he pointed at the Widows. "Get the grenades to the distribution center, and the heavy weapons over to the bunker behind the third line next to the shuttle dock. If we need them we can send a runner out to the front lines. The rest of this stuff goes to the same place, tell the volunteers to relieve Captain Meyca's men so he can get better gear."

He picked up the third M-89 before it was already taken. "And this…this goes with me."

~o~O~o~

_0900 hours_

"I am Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, Grade Seven N7 graduate. I have been given the honor of organizing the defenses of Elysium."

Elysium had its own media system. Interstellar traffic may have been blocked, but there were still plenty of reporters and cameras. Ms Shayn had suggested Shepard address the populace, give a face to the defensive force, and boost morale. It was out of Shepards comfort zone, but he had some experience being in the limelight.

"As you know, all communication with the Alliance has been cut off. We managed to get a distress signal out, so we know help is on the way." Not strictly true, but in essence correct.

Shepard took a breath. "We don't know who is out there, or why they're attacking. But this is the Skyllian Verge, and the Batrians have been shoving everywhere else in the system. However, it might also be pirates. We just don't know."

One of the camera operators gave him a thumbs up. What did that mean?

"What I do know is this: I've fought pirates, batarians, slavers and more. I am bound by my oath to the Alliance to not tell you all that I have fought, or about all the missions I have completed against scum of the galaxy. What I _can_ tell you is this: Slavers and pirates are weak. Pathetic. They prey on the helpless and try to attack by surprise. A good honest fight scares them."

Switching to Confident Smile #2 (I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know), Shepard gestured at the scenery to one side. The cameras automatically followed the gesture. Makos shuddered in a basso thunder, pointed conveniently at the cameras. Rows of recently re-armed militia stood in Parade Rest…at least the Turians were.

"These are some of the defenders of Elysium. They stand ready to fight both for your survival, and their own. Thousands more are already waiting for the enemy-"

The camera cut out to a drone, hovering over the city wall. Armed defenders peeked over the wall. One or two waved at the camera…oh for Pete's sake…one had a _HI MOM!_ sign….

"They know their jobs. Now I'll tell you yours."

Explosions started raising dust clouds in the distance. The Mantis gunships were doing their job then, good.

"If you can shoot, get a gun and stay back. If you can't shoot, get under cover. If you can run, we need help at the medical shelters. There will be wounded men and women today, and they need _you_ to help them stay alive, just as they are fighting to keep _you _alive."

The deep report of a sniper rifle echoed over the cameras. Up on a vantage point, an asari shifted back, waiting for her heatsink to cool.

"Some of us may not make it through this battle. Record messages for your loved ones, but make it quick."

Shepard took out the M-89 Widowmaker Prototype and unfolded it to its full length. "The enemy wants to take everything we have, and ourselves as well. We'll show them what free citizens can do in a fair fight. See you on the line, I'll be out front."

The reporters started shouting questions, but Shepard dismissed them sharply and ran towards the wall. Cameras followed him as he ran…it was a cheap theatrical trick, but again, the colony needed every boost it could get. Especially morale. This could get ugly.

~o~O~o~

Out in the distance, the gunships launched the last of their loads and headed back for re-arming. A pair of Kodiak Shuttlecraft lifted off behind them, headed back to base. Enemy shuttlecraft had landed well outside the range of the colony's GUARDIAN cannon, offloading an army.

Some of the shuttlecraft had been damaged in the gunships' assault, forcing the commander to delay his assault until the full measure of his force was assembled. It would work for maybe another hour, but patience was never really high on the priority list for most pirates.

The shuttles Shepard had sent out carried a mix of turian and human veterans, tasked with setting up traps, ambushing isolated groups and being a general hazard. The shuttles stayed well out of the action, due to their limited firepower, but kept close enough to make an extraction feasible.

From their nests far above, the snipers took practice shots, marking distances on their personal rangefinders. With the enemy over ten kilometer away, the snipers didn't have to worry about being spotted, yet.

There was an almighty crackling noise, then a booming voice, a mellow tenor emanated from the sky.

"Test, test…check check onetwothree…are we good?"

An engineer on the wall waved both her arms at a point farther back.

"All right ladies and gentlemen…and slavers. Today we have for your listening pleasure, a recent recording of the turian rock group, _Heavy Mettle_. Their latest album is entitled _Death Mettle_, an appropriate title if I ever saw one, and for our winning pleasure, the first number will be _Bring It On…._."

Around the city perimeter, similar speakers crackled to life, booming and whistling as they were tuned up. A strange wailing screamed out the speakers, then quieted as they were aimed more accurately, over the heads of the defenders.

Shepard took his sniper rifle and squinted through the scope. Armored figures were hauling themselves out of vehicles and taking cover.

The next wave of Mantis gunships buzzed overhead, headed for the assembling horde. Unfortunately, twin contrails from farther out indicated enemy combat craft.

Shepard keyed in the gunships frequency. "Stay back boys, we got another surprise ready for 'em. Keep under cover of the GUARDIAN batteries, and give 'em hell when they get close."

Double clicks acknowledged his order, and the attack craft turned back.

A whistling noise caught everyones attention. It came from the west side, nearer the invaders. The sound grew shriller, echoing louder like a demons whistle…followed by an enormous explosion that rocked the ground under Shepards feet.

Screams erupted behind Shepard; spinning, he saw what they'd seen. An enormous hole near the base of one of the skyscrapers poured smoke and debris.

"COVER!" he bellowed.

Multitudes of people scattered for shelter, screaming over the subwoofers.

Shepard sprinted for an overturned skycar, dialing up more frequencies.

"Why isn't that GUARDIAN tower online?" he shouted into the speaker.

A strained voice came back. "Something's infected the system, sir. Some kind of override. Can't tell where it came from."

Shepard groaned away from the mouthpiece. "Well get it back online, we don't have all day!"

Another screaming sound pierced the air, accompanied by terrified cries from people on the ground. This time Shepard was able to see an old broken down shuttle skid sideways through the air, partially shot down by one of the Mantis gunships. Its direction was gone, but the damaged shuttle managed to clip another tower.

The first tower was leaning over, excellent construction preventing an all out crash, but unable to prevent it from sagging into the rest of the surrounding structures. People were scrambling out of the way, probably thankful for any chance at all.

A hoarse human voice, probably from the spaceport, came over the radio. "Gunships, 'ware kamikazes, probably VI piloted. Watch for covering fighters out thirty klicks, three o'clock high!"

Shepard was dialing the assistant he'd had for interstellar messages. "Stella, is that you?"

A panicked voice gabbled on the other end, talking far too fast to make out.

"Calm down…calm down ma'am. It looks like most of the people are safe…yes, minimal casualties." Shepard wasn't sure where he got the buzzwords, but it seemed to work for the secretary.

"Ma'am, listen closely. I need you to start up all of the media antennas…yes…all of them. If you can, point them west, at full power. Blanket all the frequencies except the ones we're using, and the Alliance emergency frequency."

More fast-paced talking.

"Well yes it's an emergency. That's why I'm ordering it."

Shepard cut off her next transmission and shifted to Captain Meyca's channel. "Captain, are you there?"

The salarians voice came back strong. "Still living, shifting infantry from east wall closer to center of the city. Next suicide craft probable target is the GUARDIAN tower, status?"

Shepard had to be amused at the un-intended pun, salarians spoke rapid-fire under fire.

"Status unchanged, invaders approaching. GUARDIAN tower locked, hacker working on it. Adjusting to compensate."

The men on the walls started opening up, assault rifles starting their rhythmic chatter.

Shepard left his cover and bounded up an impromptu staircase. Peeking over the wall, he could see burn marks where shuttles had landed new troops during the aftermath of the suicide shuttles.

His omni-tool flashed incoming message. Stella was on the line.

"Sir, I've established contact with every responding broadcast station on the planet, they're all coordinating to cancel as many frequencies as possible, and you have an incoming message, sir."

"What? Who?" Shepard pulled his rifle into position.

A deeper, much calmer voice came out of the omni-tool. "This is the _SSV Agincourt_, Captain speaking. May I offer some assistance?"

Relief flooded through Shepard. "Captain, this is Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, N7 Marine. It's good to hear your voice, sir."

The captain came right back. "Same here, it looked like no one was moving down there until your assistant answered our signal. How can we assist?"

Shepard risked a look over the wall. "What's your situation and disposition?"

"Looks like we have near a thousand small vessels to our six frigates, and angry."

More slavers, Shepard could see their eyes now, all four of them. "Protect the colony from orbital bombardment as you can, and if you would be so kind as to send some Tridents down to cover the GUARDIAN repairs, that'd be great."

"Acknowledged, Shepard. Keep up your end, and we'll hold ours. Reinforcements are on their way."

Shepard silently pumped his fist. A startled turian glanced over at him, then spread his mandibles in response. Both turned back to the task at hand, killing slavers.

* * *

_And that felt short to me, but it's 6k words already! Tune in for the final addition to The Nth Degree..._

_And yes I'll be doing an Akuze mission. It only seems fair, after all._


	11. The Blitz, Part II

**A/N: Thank you for your patience. I wanted to get this exactly right. I'm pretty satisfied with it, but as always there could be improvements! Please let me know via PM or review what you think could have been different!**

* * *

~o~O~o~

Whomever had planned the attack had done it well. The 5th fleet was on its usual patrol, angling one direction then another in an amorphous loop. The attack had occurred just as the 5th fleet was scheduled to make an outward loop on the farthest leg of its circuit; it had been just random chance that had brought the _SSV Agincourt_ in for a surprise visit.

"That freighter just launched a round at Elysium, I don't care if it's the size of a grain of rice! Shoot it down!"

Navigator Pressly hurried to comply, formulating a probability cone and feeding it to the VI controlled GUARDIAN laser batteries. The frigate was designed for this kind of work, the rest of the six-vessel fleet in a wolfpack formation.

"Sir, we got it!" he shouted back at the captain.

The captain gave a victorious whoop. "That puts us ahead of the _Hastings_, what's our kill count?"

Pressly shook his head. "The _Hastings_, the _Coral Sea_, and the _Iwo Jima_ have been using our targeting data. I can't tell how much damage we've done without them."

A growl emanated from the Chair. "How about total damages?"

The navigator checked his board. "Looks like we've lost only minor functionality on our side, but destroyed or crippled over 150 enemy ships, sir. Mostly modified freighters and transports."

The captain nodded acknowledgement. "Tag 'em and bag 'em."

Pressly bent back to his work, constructing another firing solution. They were the only shield between Elysium and a pirate-directed Armageddon. Whatever was happening on the ground, they could alleviate that much at least.

~o~O~o~

Shepard fired, ducked and fired again. The slavers had approached the city walls within an hour and were trying to breach it.

Artillery behind Shepard belched flame periodically, hurtling projectiles overhead. When they impacted, the ground vibrated under everyone's feet.

The fight hadn't been bloodless. Another pair of shuttles had hurtled into civilian areas, killing dozens. Civilians fought fire almost as much as slavers at this point, but no one stopped.

The odd thing was that the slavers were organized at all. General mercenary work required cooperation, of course, but slavers inherently didn't cooperate. More people involved meant the money was spread around more. The smaller the crew, the bigger the payoff, even if the payoff was less certain. What had gotten so many slavers to cooperate, even on such a rich target as Elysium?

A squint poked his head out from behind a crashed skycar, sighting down an assault rifle at the wall. Shepard took a breath, held it and squeezed. The round crushed the batarians rifle on the way through his heart.

His section of the wall had held back the slavers handily so Shepard had sent defenders to other segments less ably defended. The walls were durable, constructed of some of the best materials known to Alliance and Council space. All they needed were people on top preventing anything from coming over.

Just out of Shepards range, another slaver fell, courtesy of the snipers set up by Shayna. They focused wherever the fighting was hottest, or when they had an easy shot.

Almost as if in mockery, the turian Shepard had been fighting alongside for the past hour fell, part of his shoulder missing.

"Medic!" Shepard called out.

A pair of humans hurried with a stretcher out from behind a chunk of fallen masonry. Carefully they administered a dextro- based sedative and rolled the turian onto the pallet.

"Sir…I can still fight…." the turian feebly tried to push back as the sedative kicked in.

Shepard grasped the alien three-finger hand. "You've done enough. Rest easy brother, we'll take it from here."

The turian tried to salute with his off hand. Shepard returned it with as much respect as he could show, holding it until the stretcher bearers gently carried the soldier away.

Then he resumed his vigil, scanning both his HUD and the landscape, looking for the sniper that had done this.

His search was interrupted by the whistling crump of a GUARDIAN tower.

"Sir!" his comm went off. "We got the virus out, the towers are back up!"

An explosion lit the evening sky like a second sun, well outside the city walls. High-velocity rounds made their own sonic boom trails, intercepting the slower shuttles well before their designated targets.

A woman standing near Shepard started laughing hysterically at the carnage. "Get 'em! Shoot 'em! Don't let any of 'em leave alive!"

Concerned, Shepard made his way over to her. "Ma'am, do you need some medical attention?"

The woman in question laughed harder. "They're dead…all dead…can't help them now…"

Shepard carefully slipped his hand onto her pistol. "Maybe you should check if the medics have everything they need for now."

She grimaced. "They wanted to give me some kind of pills. I told them I had to fight…had to…had to…" her face crumpled.

Shepard caught her as she fell. "Medic!" he called again.

As the volunteer helpers ran up, an ungodly shriek cut through the air.

All eyes looked up, tracking a shuttle that had one of its engines damaged. It crossed the city in an eyeblink, missing all of the towers, but hitting the wall. The wall was never designed for such an impact, let alone from the inside, and tore loose like a used MRE wrapper. Just like that, a stable situation reversed into chaos.

There was a distinct pause, then a roar of victory from outside the city. There was a howling snarl as trained varren loped through the gap, followed by infantry.

Shepard leapt off his position and sprinted towards the hole. The two krogan were already half-way there, shotguns coughing storms of metal to meet the slavers. The younger krogan managed to grab one of the varren by the jaw, and hurled it overhand back at the breach. The elder shifted aim slightly, hitting the lizard-dog, then shifted back at the slavers.

"All available backup, south wall!" Shepard yelled. "Get me whatever you can, however you can! Seal the breach!"

Stella's voice came over the channel. "We have reinforcements shuttling down from the frigates, where do you want them?"

"Put 'em down behind our line, tell them to come out hot!"

It was blind scrimmage for an interminable amount of time. Shepard didn't have time to use the rifle, he was using the pistol and as many tech attacks as humanly possible. One overload took out a turian slaver's shields, two shots took his life. The krogan were as much a weapon as the actual weapons they carried. Their weight and experience utterly crushed the unwary and maimed the careful.

"We're activating the jumper mines!" someone shouted.

A deceptively innocent series of pneumatic plinking sounds echoed throughout the battlefield. Most of the Elysium defenders flattened themselves, covering their heads. Some, of course were unable, or forgot.

Spheres about three inches in diameter flew upwards from the ground. About two meters off the ground, they exploded, sending white-hot shrapnel crashing in all directions, just about at head height. Screams of pain erupted from those standing. The uglier sounds were of gurgling, choking.

Shepard rose to his feet, pulling his knife in his off hand, pistol in the other. Around him was…nothing. Then his ears caught up, high-powered assault rifles? There were a limited number of those in Elysium…unless there was yet another cache in that Haribon warehouse?

An Alliance Marine in full armor strode confidently past Shepard. His arms held a large assault rifle steady, fresh lead spitting into the fight. Another marine, a giant of a man, grabbed Shepard by the shoulder.

"Arvid?"

The helmet slid open, revealing the cheerful face of the Russian. "You didn't think we'd leave you on your own, did you?"

Shepard slapped his friends arm weakly. "I just didn't want to share all the fun!"

Arvid raised his own assault rifle one handed and let off a burst. "It took a while to clear enough room topside to move the shuttles around, but I finally collected enough marines to make a dent down here."

"Well you can certainly lend a hand!" Shepard pointed over to the makeshift repair shops. "We have a few Makos over there, and some Mantis gunships ready to head out."

Arvid whistled sharply, making a few gestures. "That will make this a lot easier."

Marines in all directions pelted for the sheds. A few climbed over a lower retaining wall, headed for the gunships.

"How many did you bring?" Shepard asked.

"Oh, only around two, three dozen. Maybe four if you count me."

The deep rumble of an armored vehicle revved, sounding more like the wrath of a wakened monster. The Makos rolled out, pausing while marines scrambled aboard.

Behind the protective enfilade, the gunship engines whined into a higher pitch. Blinking lights started appearing against the twilight sky.

Arvid turned to Shepard. "You want in on this?" he asked.

Shepard grabbed his rifle and jogged towards the nearest Mako. "Just try and stop me."

~o~O~o~

The Makos roared through the recently cleared opening, flattening a few of the invaders in the process. The militia closed the gap behind the tanks, moving rubble into a makeshift barrier.

Outside the wall lay a panoply of contrasts. Fields stretched across the horizon, grain waving with the fresh scent of ripe harvests in the wind. Craters in the fields broke the smooth lines with blackened soot and the scent of charred flesh. Farmhouses, abandoned in the flight for the city, had smashed doorways and pristine walls. Windows were broken, glass clinging to the window frames like stalactites from a horror film. Fires burned everywhere, turning the night sky into a sullen red; harvest season had just begun, and the fields were as dry as tinder. Automated safety drones lay were they'd been shot, leaking hydraulics and extinguisher foam.

And, of course, there were the slavers.

Shepard manned the helm while Arvid took the minigun. Another marine took the heavy gun, and the three worked like a well-practiced team. When Shepard spotted a cluster, he knew where to drive. The gunners didn't need him to pander to their style, they kept their eyes on the target and blew it away when the opportunity arose. Nothing stood in their way.

Then, trouble arose.

A salarian, two humans and a batarian stepped directly in the Makos path. Each held a child hostage, maybe ten years old.

Shepard slammed on the brakes and vaulted through the back seats to the exit hatch. A relief marine shuffled into position for another driver.

One of the humans brandished a pistol at the childs' head. "Just tell everybody to get out of the Mako! My buds and I are taking it!"

"And the kids?" Shepard had a hard time controlling the boiling fury he felt. Externally, he probably looked calm, but inside….

The batarian snarled. "They come with us. Better some profit over no profit. Either they live as slaves, or they don't live at-"

A small circle appeared in-between his top set of eyes, just as a gun went off.

Shepard was surprised, whoever had fired risked a childs life. A moment later, he wondered why the shooter had stopped. Then, Shepard realized he was holding his pistol…without thinking he had fired from the hip. Before the other slavers moved he fired again, hitting both humans in the throat, the salarian in the shoulder. When had he gotten so good? He hadn't even been aiming, just thinking about location. A throat shot on a human was a death blow; on a salarian, it was more of a slow-death, their blood had enough oxygen to keep the body moving for a few minutes afterwards. Shoulder shot took out the gun arm, leaving the children free.

They took immediate advantage of their changed situation and ran for the Mako. Arvid slid out of the hatch and grabbed all of them at once in his powerful arms, simultaneously hugging and hauling them inside.

That left Shepard with the gasping slaver.

Shepard felt the fury coalesce into ice. Paradoxically he felt feeling a warm sense of self-approval at the same time. Most krogan let the fire in their veins make their decisions; and had reaped what they had sown. Humans could go either way; but Shepard was an unusually cold case. One of the major points on his psych evaluation had recommended officers training simply because he could shut down emotional responses until they were needed.

This was needed.

One shot, between the eyes.

"Get back in, we'll keep going." Shepard heard the marine driving the Mako. Its engine rumbled hungrily.

He had to pause, thinking how to verbalize his logic. "No."

"Sir?"

Shepard straightened. "I am a Level 7 graduate of the N7 course, and a Lieutenant Commander. This is an order, those marines with decent scouting skills go on foot, weapons free. The slavers are watching for the Makos and will either keep hiding, or try taking hostages again."

He noticed something he hadn't seen before…blood. And bodies…without armor. Some of the bodies were wearing torn clothing. Deep inside, his predatory instincts roared at this double affront, sending the rage deeper.

"Relay a message for me." Shepards voice held all the arctic chill of bleak ice fields. "Tell the _Agincourt_ 'no mercy.' And if they ask where I am, tell them there are some animals out here that need putting down. I'm going hunting."

Arvids voice came over the headpiece. "I'll join you."

Shepard shook his head. "No Arvid, guard the children, coordinate the gunships when the scouts get out here. And if any of those bastards show up, make them _suffer._"

There was a pause as Shepard sent an image of what he'd seen.

"Understood." Arvid couldn't voice what he thought, there were children with him. But his tone was as cold as Shepards own. Anyone who approached the Mako had better either be with the Alliance, or very, very lucky.

~o~O~o~

Gunships wheeled overhead, searchlights stabbing into the darkness. The ominous deep roar of the Makos grew louder and softer as they picked up civilians…and dealt with slavers.

Shepard took it all in as he stalked his prey. This night reminded him of another night long past. He'd been the victim then, and in similar ways he was a victim now. But this time…he was able to do something about it.

His earpiece buzzed silently, updating with new information every few minutes. The city was safe, for now. The combination of GUARDIAN towers and accompanying Trident fighters had successfully repelled the latest aerial attack. This latest suicide attack had larger ships involved, which meant the slavers must have been growing desperate as time dragged onwards, or were growing short on expendable shuttles. They'd planned on rifling through a shocked city by now, not continuing to engage in siege warfare.

This caused frustration in the slavers. Their quick assault had deteriorated almost beyond recovery. Already Shepard could hear shuttles whining in pre-flight checks, either preparing to carry disappointed passengers back to their fleet, or for another drop-ship style attack.

Disorganized frustration. Emotion. Chaos. All of the potential elements for sniping were present, except a definite target. Generally, a sniper was sent out either to destroy a specific target, or perform reconnaissance. Without either, the general idea was to destroy as much as possible, as often as possible, adding as much chaos as possible. The incredible range of a sniper, combined with the stealth used, made this what was known as a _force multiplier_. One sniper could have a greater effect on the enemy than a dozen marines.

Shepard sighted on another slaver, checking his HUD. Before the advent of higher technology, snipers had to work in pairs; the rule had been NO ONE sniped alone. Now…it was just him, his gun, and his target.

_This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. _ The old creed ran through Shepards mind. The trigger clicked, the muzzle boomed, and the target vanished.

_My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life._ Another target popped into view. Obviously an officer of some type, browbeating the more intelligent but lower ranking mooks to get into the open. His head vanished into a fine dark-purple mist in the infrared mode.

_My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me._ The mantra ran through Shepards mind as he ran crouched to another position, this one over another farmhouse. A gunship had been kind enough to give him a lift from position to position, and this spot still had living farmers.

_My rifle and I know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit..._ This time a full vehicle was the target. It was about 700 meters away, within range, and obviously headed for the farmhouse. Whomever was in the farmhouse was obviously aware of the danger. Its lights were out, and a wild shot fired from one of the windows.

Shepard breathed in, focusing on the engine block_. __My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. _The old Grizzly rumbled closer, turret spinning to fire on the house._ Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. _A shell landed past the roof, intimidation tactic._ I will keep my rifle clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other._

The rifle spoke—once, twice. Shepard waited a few seconds as the rifle cooled, feeling his rage cool slightly with each shot. The Grizzly shuddered to a halt, then whined to a higher pitch. Figures tumbled out, running for their lives.

Shepard found them first. Each life he took served to assuage the fury freezing his heart. The Grizzly exploded, the fuel igniting mortar shells inside, causing a roaring explosion muted only a little by the distance.

_So be it, until victory is the Alliance's and there is no enemy, but peace!_

The farmhouse opened a crack, a hunting rifle extending out the crack. "Hello…? Is someone out there?"

Shepard resisted the nearly frantic urge to fade back and find more targets. These people needed help.

"Hello the house!" he called, safely out of sight.

The gun jerked. "Whoever you are, git offa my land!"

Shepard walked slowly into sight, rifle conspicuously folded on its mag-clamp. "My name is John Shepard. I'm with the Alliance."

The rifle pointed squarely at Shepards chest. "How do I know you're not some pirate pretendin'?"

Shepard jerked his thumb at the smoking Grizzly. "Pirates often shoot up their own valuable hardware, do they?"

The farmer considered that a moment. "Good point. But I'm protectin' more than just me'self, so your pardon if I don't just take your word."

A young voice piped up behind the farmer. "Are they gone Daddy? Did you get 'em?"

The farmer disappeared. "Git back under the table, whatch want to git your tomfool head blown off?"

"Sir?" Shepard called after him.

The farmers outline appeared behind the screen door. "Yap?"

"I can call in support, give you a ride to the city. It isn't safe out here for little ones."

The farmer sighed. "You're shore right about that. I got the neighbors kiddos in here, tried to get him to stay, but the damn fool won't take my protection. I admire his pride, but sometimes a man's gotta eat a little humble pie, if only for his family."

Shepard gripped his rifle. "Which direction? I'll call a gunship and be there before you can say "knife."

The rifle extended out the door and pointed south. "Bout three kilometers thataway. Right where them heartless bastards landed. I figure he's either…" the man paused, remembering his audience… "either hidin' or runnin' as fast as he can thisaway."

"Wait…" he added as Shepard turned to run. The farmer cautiously stepped outside his door. When nothing took a shot at him, he took another step, then walked out to meet the soldier. He held out his hand.

"I reckon we owe our lives to you. Tell Earl that Ted Kosin said he's as muleheaded as his tractor, but not as smart."

Shepard shook the farmers hand. "I'll do my best Mr Kosin."

The farmer loped back to his door. "Call me Ted. Stop by for a spell, once this excitement is over. My wife makes the best preserves in the Verge."

Shepard waved and took off running. Three kilometers was no distance for a conditioned Alliance Marine. As he ran, a gunship landed behind him, and small bobbing lights confirmed the safety of at least one family.

~o~O~o~

The next farm was buried beneath rubble. Nothing could change that. The one beyond that, however, still had a few walls standing. Pockmarks scattered across the walls, generally around chest height. Shepard snorted at that. Amateurs. Professionals fired at the pelvis; break that and the target was easier to kill, or run from.

He paused and analyzed the pattern again. On the other hand, the trained method for a non-charging target was a classic spread, two to the chest, one to the head. These definitely had that appearance.

A faint scraping sound triggered his training to take over. Shepard dove behind cover, then scanned the area. The sound didn't repeat itself.

Shepard scanned the area. Nothing was actually _in _place, so spotting what was _out_ of place was the difficult part….except for the foot sticking out from behind a fallen wall.

Checking for traps, Shepard pussyfooted his way over to the extended limb. It wiggled slightly, indicating life.

Shepard pushed away some of the looser rubble, finally catching the largest piece and heaving it into the night. Beneath was…a very injured man.

With a soft exclamation, Shepard dropped to one knee, scanning with his omni-tool. Multiple fractures and extensive contusions covered the mans' body. Multiple medi-gel shots were required to even bring the man back to consciousness.

"Where….where are they?" the man asked.

Shepard checked his HUD. "Nowhere near us. Who are you?"

The man groaned, trying to move his leg. "My….my name….is Earl."

Shepard smiled. "Well, Earl, I have good news for you."

"What?" the man was definitely interested, despite the broken leg.

"Your kids are safe; Ted Kosin said to tell you you're 'as muleheaded as your tractor, but not as smart.'"

Earl chuckled, then winced. "That's Ted all right."

Realization forced the injured man into a sitting position. "Wait, Elysium, have they attacked yet?"

Shepard laughed. "They've been hitting the city all damn day. Only made one dent, but we're holding."

"No! Now! They had…" Earl coughed…deep from his chest…"bodies. Dead people. Live ones too. The slavers found a bunker and couldn't open it, so they blew it apart. Took the bodies…brought them here."

Shepard went still. "And?"

Earl hacked, he'd definitely be needing hospital treatment. "They cut 'em open like butchers, said they would get 'em into the city. They all left about two hours ago."

Instantly Shepard tapped his comm system. "Arvid, respond!"

Arvid came back strong, gratifyingly quickly. "Go ahead."

"Recall all mobile units, get every last soldier, volunteer and civilian back inside, and send a gunship for me. Now!"

"Understood." Arvid didn't bother signing off, changing channels. Soon, Shepard could hear the Russian barking orders out.

Shepard helped Earl up, and the two staggered to the top of a nearby hill. Soon, they were picked up by another Mantis gunship.

"Pilot, do you know if this boat has an arms locker?" Shepard asked.

The pilot, a teenager by the looks of it, pointed aft. "I saw something in the back, had an Alliance seal on it though."

Shepard found the trunk and popped the seal. Inside was the standard equipment for Alliance aerial assault, including the specialized hardware for the different unit type armors.

"Sir!" the pilot called out. "Elysium is under direct assault!"

"Did the Makos' get back?" Shepard called back. He was busy snapping together more hardware.

The pilot listened for a moment. "Most of 'em sir. Last one got caught in a grenade launcher attack, but the crew and passengers got out and in though."

Shepard unclamped his sniper rifle. "Get me over Elysium. Hover if you can."

The pilot grinned, popping his knuckles. "They have rocket launchers, but they haven't hit me yet."

The gunship roared over the countryside, flashing past ground vehicles and dwellings. Within a short amount of time, they could hear the coughing roars of grenade launchers, and the answering explosive retorts of artillery.

Another gunship rose to meet them, then spiraled away upon recognition. Miniature incandescent fountains sprayed from its lower chassis as it turned on the perimeter, scattering a few slavers. A side-panel opened, rotating out the rocket launcher, emitting a few blasts on the assailants.

"This good sir?" shouted the pilot.

Shepard waved him higher, he needed an accurate view of the situation. The tactical maps the omni-tools projected weren't good enough, not with the software civilians had on their omni-tools.

The gunship soon reached an altitude on par with the skyscrapers and hovered, turning slowly in place. Shepard searched for as far as he could see, and it did not look good.

Somehow, the slavers had managed to get an armored column past the breach. Explosives, by the char markings. Now they were rolling through the city, blasting in all directions, infantry racing to both keep up and pacify resistance.

On the outside edge, more infantry with heavy weapons were destroying more of the wall, creating a larger chasm to cover. The militia was doing a valiant job covering the gap, but the Alliance marines were pinned down by several, well covered, Grizzlies.

Shepard made a snap decision. "Arvid, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear bossman."

"Take out the heavy weapons, get that hole blockaded if you can. I'm sending a gunship to help with the tanks."

"That's a roger. Anything else, maybe a cup of tea?" As always, Arvid was lighthearted most in battle. It kept morale up, of nothing else.

"Affirmative, once the marines are clear, send a squad back into the city. They have tanks and troops running through the commercial district, headed to the residential section. I'll need the backup."

Arvid was an N7. He knew Shepards capabilities, but some things, if only for proprietary sake, needed to be said.

"Shepard, are you _insane_? That's a whole column!"

Shepard sneered playfully. "What, slavers? I destroy problems like them on my way to _real_ problems."

The line was silent for a moment. Then, "Good luck Shepard. You'll get your backup asap. And Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"The kids are safe. Got 'em in the bunker before the lead started flying."

Earl on the floor groaned. "Great, let me outta here. Man was never meant to fly, get me to my kids. Eat lead, potato, how do I taste Moby? Do I taste good?"

Shepard looked at the pilot, who shrugged. "Medigel reaction?"

The gunship shook as its barriers were hit. "What happened?"

The pilot flicked his hands through the haptic interface. "Rockets, sir. Orders?"

Shepard finished with the buckles. "Head back and get the coordinator free. He'll give you directions."

The pilot looked up at a sudden rush of wind through the vehicle. "What are you doing, you crazy?"

Shepard had opened the side panel and stood backwards to it. He grinned. "No, I just visit there." And let himself fall.

~o~O~o~

It is a little known fact that all Alliance soldiers are able to make short jumps from air to ground. The shields built into the hardsuits they wear are designed to decrease the descent rate in a sudden altitude loss. In a pinch, it turns a Kodiak crash into a potentially survivable event, instead of a pile of highly trained yet flat protein.

But Alliance command had wanted more than basic survivability. Each soldier type had their own unique style, and their armor was tailored to that uniqueness. Front-line soldiers were given upgrades that improved the shock of landing, allowing for hard-and-fast insertions with minimal recovery time. Engineers were given a high degree of electronic interference gear, using their airspeed and altitude to interfere with enemy positions.

Biotics were given less of an advantage because they already had one, being able to alter their effective mass. This allowed them to do almost anything the other branches could do, and allowed the space dedicated for hardware to instead have a high-energy nutrient drink. Few complained, calories were hard to come by in a firefight.

Infiltrators, on the other hand, had been given upgrades that enhanced stability. A sniper was able to "hang" in midair, observing the terrain with minimal turbulence.

Shepard felt the stabilizers he'd installed from the gunship activate. There was an instant of rushing wind, constant noise blasting past his ears. It felt…natural. A calm feeling, even for new people; the difficult part was actually stepping out into nothing.

The world stopped spinning, and Shepard unshipped his rifle. Far below, he could see the armored vehicles churning their way towards the residential sector. He could also see the snipers high on the towers, taking out infantry one at a time.

From his temporary vantage point, Shepard could observe a few slavers counter-sniping the nests. He adjusted his fall rate to as slow as possible and memorized the location of several targets.

Adjusting for rate of descent and distance drop was not difficult, since he had to aim almost straight down. The first shot blew him off course, however. With nothing to brace against, Shepard drifted sharply to the left. He adjusted, of course, and fired again, blasting his course askew again. He had time for one more shot, hitting the engine block of the lead tank before his gun overheated, and his course led him to land rather harshly on the side of a building.

The world went gray around Shepard as his armor countered the impact. When he could see, the center of his vision focused on a blue hand held out to him. He grasped it, hauling himself to a standing position.

Shayna grasped his hand firmly. "'Tis good to see you again, and at such a timely basis."

Around them, a mixture of humans, asari and salarians clambered along the heights, taking occasional shots at the slavers below. On their part, the slavers were making excellent usage of cover to shoot back, or hiding beside the nearly invulnerable tanks.

Shepard took it in at a glance. "You've done well," he noted, "but we need a ground presence to drive them back for good."

Shayna grimaced. "Indeed you speak true. But the bulk of our forces are tied up at the wall, preventing more hostiles from entering. None of us can challenge these slavers on the ground, they have far too much firepower."

Shepard checked his shields, they'd finished recharging. "Don't you know," he stated casually, "that it's poor sport to tell a human something is impossible?" and for the second time in ten minutes, jumped.

This time Shepard aimed for morale, not as much for strategic effect. His shield managed to pull double duty, deflecting several potshots as well as getting him lower. The boot guides worked overtime to keep him stable, since Shepard was firing more constantly. The thunder of his rifle served as both a warning and a signal of doom; what Shepard aimed at, he hit.

Slavers started turning to see what the matter was; they saw a dark shape falling from the sky with bursts of flame surrounding him. When several slavers dropped, the rest scattered out into the open, anything to get away from the avenging angel.

Shepard flared his stabilizers, landing on both feet, one fist planted for balance. Shots pinged through what was left of his shields, digging furrows in the armor.

The snipers above did their best to cover him. His stunt had flushed out a dozen mercenaries, nearly all of which were now one with the universe.

Shepard stood tall against the slavers, letting them get a good look at him. Then he turned and ran like the wind.

~o~O~o~

The bunker in the Residential section for that part of Elysium was well built. It had gunports, bay doors, a few turret emplacements and blast doors designed to keep out artillery shells.

However, it was not often used, only maintained by a dedicated crew that lost funding as peaceful years followed, one after another. To wit, only two turrets worked, mostly facing the wrong direction, and the doors stuck. Scared men and women stood behind the jammed doors, listening to the approaching gunfire.

They saw Shepard, running as only an N7 operative at the height of conditioning could run, leaping over parked skycars and dodging obstacles as if he'd been doing it all his life. He actually had, if you thought of the obstacles as dense bushes and trees.

Behind him the reluctant guardians spotted charging mercenaries. Assault rifles spanged shots off debris next to Shepard, the occasional pellet sparking blue off his shields.

The woman in charge of the holdout watched, then realized what she was doing.

"Cover 'im!" she screeched. Her voice wouldn't have shattered glass, but it might have caused it to go off in a corner and reevaluate its purpose in life.

Gunports slid open and deadly metal gleamed through the shadows. A deadly fusillade, mostly inaccurate, but terrifying in volume poured out of the apertures. Shepard slid to his knees between two skycars and huddled under the twin protections of bad aim and limited fire angles.

The mercenaries behind him were caught completely off guard, several fell screaming while one actually lost his throat to a lucky shotgun blast. The rest scrambled for cover.

Shepard crawled out on his knees, hands raised. "Alliance Marine, coming over!" he called.

A voice shouted back. "More coming, stay down!"

Shepard instantly ducked back. More fire came by his head, farther this time as the panicked volunteers got their nerves under control.

The more practiced mercenaries started finding targets in the bunker, but there were many people who did not want to die as slaves. Humanity as a whole still held an incredible amount of respect for freedom, and held such a deep set cultural loathing for slavers that it was nearly a genetic trait.

Shepard didn't know what to do; on the one hand the civilians were putting up a good fight, keeping an outpouring of fire that forced the attackers to keep under cover. He was safe enough under cover, at least until someone potentially blew up the skycar. On the other hand, the slavers were well practiced at pacifying resistant victims. They must have felt confident, for they started yelling insults at the civilians, promising retribution for making so much trouble.

One insult in particular caught Shepards ear. It was a male voice, rough and spoken with the familiarity of a non-native speaker.

"When I get my hands on you, I'll do to you just like I did that bitch on Mindoir!"

Time stopped. The last two words echoed around Shepards' mind like a bad dream. _On…Mindoir…. On. Mindoir. On Mindoir. OnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoir. _For a moment, he was stunned. Memories flowed through his minds eye, nightmares from countless nights, images of demons dragging away friends, seeing his family while on his knees their blood staining his face and hands. Hours on the firing range visualizing the spiteful faces on the targets…the love and farewell of his _parents._

The rage he'd controlled, buried, for the past several years, yet felt on the plains a few hours back returned with a roar, redoubled in fury. Normally, Shepard controlled his anger, used it to go just a little farther, hold out a little longer. Now, he discovered anger was good for more than just a skill boost.

In an eyeblink, Shepard swung around the skycar, targeted a four-eyed monster and sent a bullet straight through the shields and into the skull. The next batarian received the same fate.

Shepard moved smoothly, no clumsiness evident. His rifle boomed out like the gavel of justice, mangling another slaver so badly his own kin wouldn't recognize him.

The rifle beeped overload; without pausing Shepard dropped the rifle and drew his pistol. He fired it continuously, driving back mercenaries under its assault, draining shields. By the time the pistol overloaded, the rifle had cooled down, which he picked up without looking, firing it from the hip through another slavers throat.

Faces and voices from another era went through Shepards mind.

_ Jims' dark blue eyes looked seriously into his son's. "I'm taking point because I have the most experience. Deal with it."_

Shepard rounded a corner, meeting a pair of batarians with shotguns. He dropped to one knee, scything the other leg into the slavers ankles. His knife came out from nowhere, slashing through femoral arteries.

_ "They're after slaves, not just stuff." Nadia looked scared._

The next corner held a turian slaver. Shepard charged him, red tinged vision focused on nothing but the mismatched armor and a slowly rising gun. Before the turian could finish moving, Shepard was upon him, grasping the Turians head-fringe and lower mandible, _twisting._

_The neighbors' daughter_ _Talitha was pressed against the window, an expression of pure terror on her face. Her daddy was out there…she could see him…._

Shepard had no idea where the roaring sound was coming from, but it seemed to terrify the small men before him. He redoubled his pace, trying to beat whatever was frightening his prey. Three had scattered for cover to one side, the rest had bunched together running for cover.

Instincts were in the fore, actions taken by muscle memory. A grenade flipped from Shepards hand soaring across the street. Even as it flew, his pistol cleared leather, slamming itself into his palm barking an angry vengeance on the three cowards just as the grenade detonated. Body parts flew past, ignored.

_Jim cursed under his breath. "Damn it, they got the Larsons."_

A full squad showed up ahead of the Marine. His long-distance shots flashed around their feet. The slaver stood their ground, however. Their target was the madman chewing up their soldiers, organized counter-fire would kill him.

"_Mother…wanted me…to tell you…we…love you." Jims' eyes closed, slightly smiling at his son._

Shepard rolled across the ground behind a concrete berm, growling deep inside his chest. He threw another grenade in a high arc over the top, following it with a pair of glistening tech based mines. He popped up behind cover and triggered a burst, ducking back to re-equip his rifle. An explosion rocked the earth, followed by electronic whines. Coming out rifle first, he saw what was left of the squad scattering again, shields down, some falling. He made sure the rest of them fell, spacing out his shots with animal instinct.

~o~O~o~

Shayna directed her daughters to fire on the street behind them, just as a squad of slavers bulled their way through the resistance. She didn't bother warning the other snipers; she could easily stop their advance herself. A few of them noticed, however and fired, missing in their haste.

Just as Shayna drew a bead, an explosion blocked her sight. Confused, she lowered her rifle, casting her eyes wider. A lone human knelt behind a barrier of some kind calmly taking down the slavers with lethal efficiency. Even as she watched, he put away his rifle, drawing a pistol and a knife to deal with a pain-addled batarian at close range. They sparred for only a few seconds before the batarian was down clutching its shoulder.

Shayna paused for a moment, watching the human. He was running as if possessed, yet fully capable of deadly precision. From her vantage point she could see another pair of slavers, human this time, coming at an angle around the next street.

The lone fighter stopped just prior to their rounding the corner, firing even before the slavers had turned. They couldn't help their momentum and ran straight into the storm, dying within moments.

That was not common ability, Shayne knew, that was the result of decades of training, or maybe years for a singularly gifted salarian…she hadn't seen anything like that outside of the Commandos though. Maybe the STG, when they'd condescend to train with the Commandoes for a short time.

More gunfire jarred her back to the situation. What looked like a small platoon had entrenched itself in a small building, but had left themselves vulnerable to a rear assault. Shayna saw a flicker of movement, then recognized one of the Marine detachments that had recently made planet fall sneak behind the shed. A few seconds later, blasts of fire punched through the roof, collapsing the entire building on itself and all its occupants.

Satisfied that the human had found reinforcements, Shayna flared her biotics to float her over another rooftop. Her daughters circled, moving along on other buildings, maintaining a distance that maximized their overlapping fields of fire while minimizing their exposure. She smiled proudly. She was certain that someday her daughters would eclipse her own formidable combat prowess.

Noticing a few targets, she redirected the two salarians under her command. Like all of their kind the salarians had been quick on the uptake, mastering the more difficult aspects of tactical positioning in a matter of hours.

Her attention was drawn back to the scene below. The single male Marine had outrun the marines behind the felled hut, scattering shots at a fleeing slaver. She shrugged and went back to her duty.

~o~O~o~

Dim shouting finally reached Shepards consciousness. He could tell it was past midnight, the lack of a moon allowed a full view of the brilliant stars very possible. The Big Dipper was in a completely different configuration, but its component stars were still visible. More visible were the ethereal rings that glinted against the velvet black sky, hints of dawn barely detectable to the east. For the first time in a long while…it felt peaceful….

A marine in full combat gear pounded to a halt by Shepard. His eyes were wide, taking in the trail of destruction behind Shepard. "You all right Lieutenant-Commander?" he asked.

Shepard had to think about the question for a minute. All the rage he'd felt, the anger so deeply buried, was no longer so strong. Not gone, it would never be gone, but it was…lightened.

"Yeah…" he muttered. Then stronger, "Yes, thanks soldier. I'm doing fine."

A full squad of marines approached, Arvid at their lead. "Thought you were going to chase 'em all the way to the retaining wall, boss." he joked. His eyes, however, were concerned.

Shepard tried reassuring him. "Don't worry about me, Arvid. You know I'm far too stubborn to get downed by one of these squints."

Arvid made a show of looking around Shepard. "So it would seem."

With a start, Shepard realized where he was. For the sake of the soldiers grinning at him and resetting their pieces, he didn't allow a visible reaction, but when he looked at himself….he was…blood stained…all along his left side. The knife he always carried was strapped to his leg, but the grenade he always taped to it was gone…and the handle looked scraped. More dents and pockmarks were evident on his armor…and yet he had only a vague memory of what had happened.

Reality kicked in.

"We have more to do before this night is over." Shepard barked. The marines responded to the tone, assuming ready positions with professional speed. "Lock and load, move 'em out."

Arvid leaned over as the men and women shouted agreement and flooded towards the retaining wall. "You always wanted to say that, didn't you." He said, eyes twinkling. It wasn't a question, just a statement.

Shepard shrugged. "The world may never know."

~o~O~o~

To the invaders, this was the last straw. They'd been promised easy slaves, even counting a hard and expensive assault, and this had been anything but. Their ships were being systematically destroyed from orbit, their best effort in taking the city had failed miserably, and all they had was their backup plan.

"Commander." Captain Feyn Meyca was glad to see the superior officer. "They're setting up something.

"Let 'em." Shepard strolled along the wall, music throbbing above, letting the enemy see him, but more importantly letting the civilians see him. He noticed some of the civilians had cameras…damn. Front-page news was _not_ how he intended to finish out this day.

He caught his train of thought. "We have a lot more bullets if they want to try another rush, but this time I suggest we let the tanks handle it."

A shout from outside the walls garnered his attention. "Wonder what that is?"

_It_ turned out to be a batarian with some sort of megaphone. While that was not unusual, he had a line of human civilians behind him, each with a captor holding a gun to his or her head.

Shepard twitched, _almost_ reaching for his rifle, but he managed to still the angry beast struggling against his ribs. It was a struggle, but the beast responded to his touch now, no longer blindly unleashed.

"Human!" the batarian shouted. "I know you're up there! Quit hiding behind your walls!"

Shepard waved from his position. "The only hiding here is being done by your cowardly scum. Drop the hostages and I'll _consider_ letting you live."

The batarian flushed…although it was hard to tell. Batarian skin always looked flushed. "Surrender or the prisoners get it!" he yelled back.

"El-See?" murmured Arvid.

Shepard looked out over the prisoners. More were gathered in a large group just out of assault range, several slavers pointing weapons at them.

"Contact Captain Meyca. Tell him to get the gunships moving on a precision strike, southeast; after they're in position, all units fire at will." Shepard muttered.

Theatrically, he turned to face the spokesman. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't kill all of us?" he called back.

The slaver lifted his megaphone, gesturing at the prisoners. "You don't. I have the slaves, I'll kill them before I let you take them. And if you don't surrender, I'll kill them before I kill you!"

"Bold words from slime that can't even make good on his threat. You say you can kill me? I dare you, kill me now!" Shepard flung both arms outward in an inviting gesture. A shot missed his head by a small margin.

"That the best you can do?" Shepard laughed at the furious slavers. "I've killed hundreds of your kind in the past few hours alone, probably more. I've killed _thousands_ of slavers in the last couple years. And you think you can bandy words with me? Get your boss, his retarded monkey shouldn't be trying to negotiate."

The roar of gunships blasted whatever the batarian was trying to say. Five Mantis gunships dropped out of the sky, mini-guns firing on the slavers. Marksmen in the missile bays took precision shots, taking out triggermen. In return, the slavers fired indiscriminately, at least until they met their fate.

A Marine contingent, led by Arvid, charged out the breach rounding up what prisoners still lived…although many might not have wanted too. Shepard had once told his friend what batarian slavers did to their slaves, how implants were shoved into their brains for controlled obedience. Engineers under Arvids' command deployed scrambling devices, blocking the slavers commands while shuttling the prisoners back into the city. Some could be saved…others…would be avenged.

The slavers rallied, pushing again. Somehow they'd gotten their heavy weapons wielders close enough to the wall to force the defenders to stay down most of the time. The Makos covered the breach from safety, small arms fire bouncing off their thick armor. Every time the slavers made a concerted effort to charge through the gap, the Makos coordinated fire; anything that made it through the withering barrage was taken down by angry milita support.

Shepard leaned back against the protective lip of the wall. He was still angry…but somewhat gleeful as well. On his own, he'd never have been able to gather all those prisoners, and the batarians had done it for him.

That made him chuckle.

The two krogan were nearby and heard him. The elder bared his teeth approvingly, nudging the younger. "See, some humans can get it," He rumbled. "Others are surrounded by targets, getting shelled, have a weapon in their hands, and keep whining. This human," he nodded towards Shepard, "sees the opportunity."

Shepard didn't bother correcting the krogan. There was something to what the krogan said…when the odds were stacked, you could get the most kills.

Using that line of thought, he jerked above the wall, and fired three times. Dropping back down, he pulled up his omni-tool and tapped it. "Three shots," he gave his best carnivore smile to the krogan, "three kills."

Both krogan laughed, throwing their heads back. The smaller one with red markings stood, scorning the incoming fire hitting his shields. His assault rifle thundered to life, spitting lead at the gathered slavers.

As he fired though, an unearthly roaring noise gradually grew, overpowering even the barking detonations of grenade launchers.

Shepard looked up tiredly. What he saw looked downright heavenly.

Dozens of Kodiak class shuttles flew in formation, deafeningly loud. Mixed in the formation were Trident fighters; even from the distance Shepard was seeing, he could tell the Tridents were armed with Skull air-to-ground missiles.

A welcome voice came over the intercom.

The media liaison shunted a new call over to the Marine commander. She didn't need to ask if he wanted to hear from this man.

"Lieutenant-Commander, this is Anderson. Here comes the cavalry, son."

A second voice broke through just after the Captain. "Hey Shepard, Karl here. I have around a thousand missiles ready for deposit, where would you like to bank them?"

Shepard laughed aloud. "It's good to hear your voice Captain, we've been holding out down here. Can you tell Karl to trash the slaver shuttles? They're parked about ten klicks out of town."

Shepard stood, raising both arms skywards. Startled defenders caught a glimpse, then saw what he was staring at. Contrails spiraled from the lightening sky, exploding into the slaver ranks.

The victory yells only grew from there.

~o~O~o~

The militia and civilians cheered uncontrollably as shuttles swooped into the city, depositing squad after squad of Alliance Marines. The marines themselves were in action mode, ignoring the crowd mostly, securing the area and rushing medical supplies to where it was needed.

Further out in the fields, explosions erupted into clouds of grey smoke. Shuttles that had made it into the air clumsily tried avoiding the Tridents, but few actually made it to space. Those that did make it were unable to rendezvous with their motherships…the entire 5th Fleet had arrived, fresh and angry.

Relief crew came down on the second wave of shuttles. Engineers from the first wave had set up medical facilities with a skeleton crew, which were filled out by the second wave. They were needed. Thousands of civilians were hurt, hundreds killed. The emergency response teams from the city were nearly all exhausted. While some had volunteered for the militia, others had stayed back and made foray after foray through live fire to help the wounded. A full thirty percent had urgently required medical attention themselves, none would escape without scars.

The result was a bloody disaster for the slavers. An initial body count placed the number of dead slavers on Elysium at over ten thousand, an unheard of amount for a raid. The previous highest known number of enemy participants for a raid had been nine thousand, counted during a Krogan raid on a turian colony. That colony hadn't survived, and its name was erased from everywhere, except for the history files. Of course, the total number of enemy participants on Elysium had been higher than ten thousand, an estimated three thousand managed to escape and fifty vessels managed to escape via the Mass Relay, despite the best efforts of the Fifth Fleet and the SSV Agincourt frigates.

Despite the escaped slavers, the final death toll for enemy combatants was eventually settled at above twelve thousand slavers (and slaves brought with them), four hundred and thirty two vessels and two dozen ground vehicles.

The defenders of Elysium had losses as well. Hundreds had been killed in the initial suicide shuttle attacks; one of the shuttles managed to make a direct impact on one of the civilian bunkers. The first two levels had collapsed, crushing the inhabitants.

Of the thousands in the Elysium militia, a full one hundred and thirty-three had died defending the walls. Half of those had given their lives holding the breach until Shepard and the Marines filled the gap in their last enraged charge. Five volunteer snipers had died, a testament to the capable leadership of Shayna, the former Armali Commando. Ashe'd already been offered a defense contract, but had turned it down.

Between both sides, over five hundred thousand rounds were fired, not including grenades, rockets and mines. Not a single Trident fighter had been lost, although one of the A-61 Mantis gunships had been shot down.

The Governor had apparently recovered, but had elected to stay out of the command structure during the fighting. His Lieutenant had survived the fighting, and was tried on the charges of aiding and abetting slavers, treason to the Alliance, and engaging in criminal actions. He was convicted on all counts. Somehow, on his trip from the sentencing to the holding cell, he managed to obtain a sidearm and tried to escape. His attempt was short lived in every sense of the word.

The farmers were able to return to their land, and although many fields were destroyed, there was more than enough to supply both the capital and the off-planet contracts.

~o~O~o~

The collar itched. It always did. No matter what Shepard tried, the dress blues had an itchy collar.

There were, of course, cameras. Lots of them, to match the huge crowd, so he had to maintain his composure and avoid allowing his face to twitch…despite the irritation of an itchy collar. And boredom at political glad-handing. He left politicians alone while he worked, why couldn't they leave him alone while they worked?

Captain Feyn Meyca was out in the audience, a knowing look in his eyes. Was that a smirk?

With a start, Shepard realized the current speaker was turning to get him up to the podium. Captain Anderson, as his immediate superior was beckoning with a small box in his hand.

Shepard put on his Best-And-Brightest face on and kept his shoulders back. No one liked seeing a slump-shouldered soldier. All soldiers had to be tall and broad-shouldered. Why not a skinny lethal soldier? Why couldn't it be anyone but _him?_

Admiral Hackett, representative of the 5th Fleet stood next to the podium and nodded sagely. Shepard was somewhat assured, the Admiral was a wise master of conflict, in multiple theatres.

Two rows of Marines saluted as he walked up to the microphone. Arvid, at their head, winked.

Hackett waited for Shepard to salute, then returned it with the speed and grace of a much younger man. First, he spoke to the crowd in his gravelly voice, extolling the virtues of Elysium. Next he spoke to the Marines, complimenting them on their holding action. Finally, he turned to the audience and really looked at them, not just roving his gaze over individuals. His steel grey eyes blazed with an ancient fire.

"Lieutenant-Commander Shepard has been an exemplary soldier, a comrade-in-arms with whom every man and woman in the Armed Forces would be proud to serve. His record, from the first day of enlistment has been a series of remarkable achievements. He is one of the few enlisted soldiers to be recommended for the ICT courses, and the first soldier to achieve all seven gradations within two years."

"Shepards dedication and character have protected humanity since before he joined the Marines. On Mindoir, before he even reached the age of majority, he personally guided Marine rescue forces. Tragically, most of Mindoir was lost. But Shepard still saw the value in defending the helpless, in standing vigilant guard over those who could not fight on their own."

Shepard swallowed hard. He avoided looking at the vid panels overhead, depicting various actions during his service. One of them showed the cemetery on Mindoir, Anderson had been decent enough to warn him ahead of time.

Admiral Hackett made a ninety degree turn to face Shepard, clicking his heels.

"Lieutenant-Commander, for your actions in defending the colony of Elysium, for your spirited defense and capable leadership in the worst of situations, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Commander."

Commander? This wasn't in the script….

But Admiral Hackett wasn't finished. After pinning the insignias on Shepards shoulder (shaking hands for the cameras), Hackett stepped back and waved down the audience.

"In addition, it has been decided by a unanimous vote, that further honor be given for the Defender of Elysium. Therefore, it is with great pride and even greater satisfaction, that I award you the Star of Terra."

Captain Anderson stepped forward smartly, holding up the opened velvet box. Inside was the Star of Terra, a gold five-pointed star on a platinum circle, hanging from the middle of a gold chain. A phrase from Ancient Latin was etched in the center: _virum honoratum foederis._ To Honor a Hero of the Alliance.

Hackett and Anderson stepped back and saluted. The crowd, already cheering, increased the volume. Someone still had control of a few loudspeakers on the walls, and started pumping a celebratory music list. Farther down, the Marines acted like undisciplined children; Arvid and Karl flung their formal-wear hats skywards.

Captain Anderson caught Shepards eye. The older man smiled. "Well done, Commander."

~o~O~o~

"So, what are you going to do next?" Karl asked.

The combat engineer lounged back on an expensive table. Shepard winced at the thought of potential damage to mahogany shipped from Earth. Being housed in one of the most expensive hotels on Elysium was nice, but…frightening.

"Soon as I can, I'm getting off Elysium." Shepard answered. "What about you guys?"

Arvid had his feet up on a footstool, "I'm staying on Elysium. The local Alliance post needs some looking after, what with the damage it took from the Blitz, and I can help."

"Yeah, and that _chica_ you've been seeing has nothing to do with it?" Karl teased.

Arvid flushed. "Tanya's just needed a little help settling back in, she was really shaken by that slaver squad."

"And your blundering in with a grenade and accidentally tripping her, then falling on her before the blast has nothing to do with it?" Karl kept his voice poisonously sweet.

Arvid changed the subject, "What about you Shepard, you ready to settle down?"

Shepard shivered. "It's been…offered…." he returned. "Offering" was a minimal description for some of the messages sent his way, not to mention the invitations…. "but I'm headed out for my next mission in a few days."

Karl sat up sharply. "What? Where?"

Shepard smirked. "Need to know basis."

Karl mock-scowled, flinging an orange from a nearby fruit bowl. "Come on, you can tell us."

Arvid looked up, interested.

Shepard sighed. "Just a reconnaissance run…through some kinda rough neighborhoods. Apparently my ability to survive has gotten me…attention."

Karl grinned. "Look out, someday you're going to be famous, _Commander _Shepard."

It was an interesting thought, Shepard had to admit. The title didn't sound too bad. Not bad at all.

* * *

**A/N: All right, that wraps up this story. I want to thank everyone who has taken the time to view, review and comment on this little story. I would especially like to thank Drussius for introducing me to this site, and for helping me realize the importance of perfectionism.**

**I'd like to thank Fainmaca, for getting me engrossed in a story and showing that long isn't bad :)**

**And I'd like to thank Evelsant93 and addtheletters for their encouragement. Writers thrive on comments :)**

**I will be working on an Akuze section, as a standalone work. After that...I'll take suggestions to heart, maybe an Urdnot Wrex, Bounty Hunter run? Honestly, school will keep me busy, but I always have time to type a few sentences at the end of the day.**

**Thank you, and farewell...for now.**

**V-rcingetorix**


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